Everything But The Girl
by VelocityGirl1980
Summary: Instead of handing Marian over to the earl of Winchester, as the Sheriff commanded, Guy does the right thing and helps her escape the Castle after creating a little diversion courtesy of the about to be hanged Alan A Dale. With no going back for any of them, what does the future hold? Guy/Marian; Alan/OC Set in series 2, episode 7 up to a point, then completely AU.
1. Everything But The Girl

**Summary:** Everything is a choice, and Guy of Gisborne knows that as well as Robin Hood. What happens, then, when Guy chooses to act against the Sheriff to save Marian from the earl of Winchester after all? Set in series 2, episode 6 (up to a point), but then completely AU.

**Author's Note:** I've been toying with the idea of writing something for Robin Hood for months, now. This is the result. All disclaimers apply, and the BBC own everything. This is just for fun. I hope everyone enjoys, and reviews would be greatly appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter One: Everything but the Girl.**

She had been bargained away like a prize heifer, nothing more than a concession for a strip of land in a county the Sheriff probably won't even deign to visit. All as part of a pact that could see them all hanged as traitors. What was worse, Marian had been dragged into it their treason; she was guilty by association and Guy well knew it. Well, Winchester be damned. He could have anything he liked; everything but the girl.

He reaches her door and pauses briefly with a painful squirm of panic at the silence on the other side. What if she's out? He would never have time to find her before Vaisey, or worse, Winchester. He dispenses with the formality of knocking and wrenches the door wide open only to be greeted by the sound her voice, dripping in admonishment. "Guy, at least do me the courtesy of knocking."

He has no time for it, he has to make her see reason – and that's no easy task when her head is full of Robin Hood inspired obstinacy. "Clear your possessions; you're leaving … now."

"Why?

"Winchester's made a deal with the Sheriff; you've become part of the negotiations,"

He hopes the short, declarative sentences will impress upon her the urgency of her situation. Sadly, it does not.

"Pardon?" she asks, flatly uncomprehending.

"Winchester wants you," he replies, concise and blunt as he can be and talking directly at her.

Finally, she turns in her seat to look at him. "Tell him he can't have me," she emphatically commands, as if it were easy as clicking your fingers.

"The Sheriff has agreed; I cannot protect you," he insists.

It's no good, she's in shock. He tries to snap her out of it by snatching up the first bag he sees and hauling it carelessly onto the table in front of her. To drive the point home, he even starts packing for her. "You have to run now."

"But my father-"

He wants to throttle her, now. "I will look after him!"

"I can't leave him!" she retorts hotly.

"Why do you always resist me even when I'm attempting to help you?"

He's stuffing the clothes in the bag, but she's just pulling them out again. But at the same time she knows what's happening. "I can see that, and I'm grateful."

Her gratitude extends to continuing to undo his haphazard packing. He's beginning to wonder why he bothered. "If the Sheriff knew I was doing this my own life would be in danger!"

"Why do you work for him?" she demands, full of exasperation.

It's a question Guy has asked himself several times. But the truth is plain and simple. "Because I have nobody," he replies, unashamed of how alone in the world he really is. To cut off any further dissent he fishes in his pocket for the money he has to give her. "Take this, I have instructed a man on the West Gate to let you out. Go. Now!"

The moment of parting squirms like poison through his heart. There's no time for lingering farewells, just one final stolen kiss before he bolts for the door. No looking back, he thinks, just go. He's out the door before he has a chance to break down and succumb to his own fraught emotions. He needs time to think what he's going to tell the Sheriff. And nor does he have long. As soon as her chamber door is closed, that drawling voice stops him in his tracks.

* * *

"Excellent!"

Guy slowly turns around at the Sheriff's voice, and he's already on his heels. Fear and apprehension crawl through his guts as he thinks the Sheriff listened in on every word he just said to Marian. He can say nothing' he is dead already if Vaisey really did hear all that.

"Taking the Lady to meet her new Lord," the Sheriff continues, closing the gap between them with just a few steps, backing him against the wall.

"My Lord-"

"As my Lieutenant, Gisborne, you sit at the right hand of the farmer. You'll share in the fruits of our labour," he explains, placing a cold hand on the back of Guy's neck. It was always his way: he bore the whip to keep him in line in one hand, and the velvet glove sheathed the other to lull him back into line. "You will be a God amongst men, as long as I can trust you. Take Lady Marian to Winchester."

The Sheriff's voice is low, almost seductive, his gaze searching, penetrative as he seeks out the truth in his right hand man. Guy is powerless under the scrutiny, like some other person takes control of his actions and words. It's like being drugged. Someone else nods his head for him, but he can't quite bring himself to speak the betrayal of Marian aloud. Vaisey smiles, caresses a tear from Gisborne's cheek like a concerned parent.

"Very good," he croons in approving conclusion, before easing himself away, back down the stairs and out of sight.

* * *

He watches the Sheriff saunter out of view, waits until his footsteps have receded, and finally releases the breath he didn't realise he was holding. On the other side of the door, he can still hear the muffled sounds of Marian's hasty packing, the metallic clatter of jewellery being tossed carelessly into bags, he pictures her in his mind as she throws in the gowns and trinkets of a lifetime spent here in Nottingham. He can see the earl of Winchester peeling back his bedsheets, ready for her on their wedding night, and the Sheriff counting his coins – a transaction complete. He can see himself alone, forever navigating the caprices of a madman, a slave without chains at the mercy of the increasingly powerful, unstable, Sheriff Vaisey. Nausea rises, bile hitting the back of his throat before he retches and dry-heaves, doubled over at the top of the stairs. He needs only a minute to compose himself again, and in that minute a decision is made. He listens again to the sounds of her packing, preparing to run, and he knows he's going with her.

A slack-jawed guard scratches his bollocks through a grubby tunic, his halberd resting lazily against his right shoulder. Guy's lip curls in disgust at the sight of him, but at least he's alone. His equitable colleagues are no doubt engaged in similar pursuits at the local tavern or whorehouse. Behind him, the human menagerie of dungeons stretch out into the gloomy distance, each with gimlet eyed inmates gaping outwards into the semi-darkness. The air is heavy and rank with their stench; sweat, blood and shit mingle, a foetid reek that makes the unaccustomed eye water. But Guy's eyes are far from unaccustomed, and he knows who he's looking for, spots him almost immediately.

He nudges the guard and nods to Alan A Dale, still seething and newly re-incarcerated at the behest of the Sheriff who wanted someone to hang. "That man, A Dale," says Guy to the Guard who stops scratching his balls but says nothing. "The Sheriff has ordered his release."

The Guard looks sceptical. "Y'wha-?" he grunts, words barely formed, but Guy understands their semi-language.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. "He is to be released immediately," he speaks firmly, despite the tremor in his heart. Keeps his voice low so no one else hears him but the guard, not even the other prisoners. He leans in close and whispers in the guards ear: "Tell him to run for his life. It's just, the Sheriff wants to go out hunting later, and … well, he's going to be the quarry, if you catch my drift."

The two men look knowingly at one another, and a lop-sided grin spreads across the guard's dirty, toothless, face as comprehension sets in. That's the Sheriff they all know and love – hunting for humans instead of boring old boar. They both laugh like schoolmaids sharing a joke.

"Right you are, Guv," says the cheery guard as he reaches for the keys connected to his belt.

Guy waits, breathing a silent sigh of relief as he listens to the scrape of the key in the rusty lock, the clangour of metal bars pulled back. A brief interaction he cannot make out, and A Dale is soon being escorted outside. Five minutes later, and the guard is back. This man knows too much. He will tell the others that he, Guy, told him that the Sheriff ordered A Dale's release. "Just come with me a minute," says Guy, throwing an overly friendly arm around the guard's shoulders, and leads him into the outer chamber, out of sight of everyone else in the dungeons. His dagger is drawn silently, and sinks into the others man's flesh with an eviscerating ease. The man's face is all dumb incomprehension. Even as he falls to the dirty floor, landing in the rushes, he doesn't seem to know what is happening, and his death is a largely silent affair. Dead men tell no tales.

Time is of the essence, and Guy picks up the pace and sprints to the Great Hall where the guards patrol all day and all night. To create the perfect diversion, he needs them all gone while he and Marian make their escape. He looks for the Commander, easily spotted at the doors of the chambers.

"You!" he shouts across the room as he approaches the man at speed, "there's been an escape from the dungeons." He is careful to shout loud enough for them all to hear, and the effect is instantaneous as they all snap to attention. "Alan A Dale; get after him now. Tell the Sheriff to keep Winchester safe until we catch him – A Dale is armed, he's killed one of the guards. I think he might go after the Black Knights."

It is perfect. They all suspected that Alan would try to get back in with his old gang, and what better way to do that than bust out of prison and go after the Black Knights? Winchester will be under lock and key, and the maelstrom of confusion will give him the perfect opportunity to get Marian away. But he knows his time is limited, and he is back, sweating and panicking at Marian's door within minutes. She is waiting, even with her hair done, for him. He pauses in the doorway, taking a moment to just look at her, to take her in.

Slowly, he leans down and picks up one bag and hugs it close. "You'll have to carry the other under your cloak," he tells her between puffs of breath as his heart continues to race. She replies with an almost imperceptible nod. "I created a diversion; we have no time or we'll both be dead."

The cloak is over her shoulders in a trice, the hood pulled down low. Guy holds his hand out to hers, and she takes it without protestation or hesitation. Her hand in his sends a thrill of excitement coursing through his body like a charge starting from the tips of his fingers. It feels that way whenever he looks at her.

He smiles. "Let's go," he says, matter-of-factly, as though he were suggesting a walk by the river.

For the first time in a long time, Marian returns his smile.

The whole Castle is in chaos as they charge through the galleries and passageways towards the terraces. Marian is clasping his free hand for dear life, she can't see properly because of the hood pulled low over her face. But there is no sign of the Sheriff – he must be guarding the Knights personally, making sure no one gets to them or his precious Pact of Nottingham. As they reach the main exit, however, he is waylaid by one of the sentry officers.

"Sir Guy, can you lead any men yourself?"

He thinks fast. "No, I must get this woman through the forest safely, make sure we're undisturbed by anyone," he commands. It will be all right, he thinks to himself, any guards out beyond the Castle walls will think he's part of the manhunt, anyway. Just to be cautious, he adds: "concentrate your efforts inside the Castle – I'm sure he's after the Black Knights."

Marian remains completely silent, he can feel her trembling against him as she presses close. He wants to get her away as quickly as possible, but the Officer is still bleating at him. "There's a company of musicians inside, what're we to do with them?"

Guy bites back the angry retort and scowls instead. "How should I know!"

The Officer knows better than to cause any more trouble for him and stands aside much to Guy's relief. He tugs on Marian's wrist, leads her quickly to the stables where finally she can lower her hood for a moment, even if it's only while she helps to saddle their horses. Just before she mounts, however, he stays her by placing a hand on her forearm. She pauses, foot still in stirrup.

"Marian, when I get you safely out of the gates, ride on ahead without me-"

"But what will you do?"

"I need to find someone, then I will follow you. You'll be safe enough beyond the walls."

Her expression is clouded with worry; she wants to protest and he feels his heart turning cartwheels at her concern for his safety. But she doesn't yet know he's staying with her.

Once they're saddled, Marian disguises herself once more and he leads the way out of the castle and under the portcullis. There are only two guards manning it now, the rest are inside searching for Alan A Dale, who should be well beyond the walls by now. They wave Guy through without even a second glance. It's not like it's an unusual sight, after all. He even gives them a wave as he passes. Once they are beyond the walls, he pauses and lets Marian's small Palfrey catch up with his Destrier horse. "Wait for me at the ravine ten miles north," he instructs. Wordlessly, she digs her heels into the horses flanks and breaks into a gallop.

For a moment, he watches her gallop away until she is obscured by the dust clouds kicked up by the horse. He turns his old warhorse around, and begins to skirt the castle walls. He couldn't very well leave Alan to be hunted like an animal, besides, he knew he'd be needing the Outlaw, now. It doesn't take long, and as luck had it, Alan found him. Always with the luck of the Devil on his side, A Dale had even managed to purloin a horse from God knows where. Gisborne knew he'd struck gold with him, even if he chose not to show it.

A Dale is scandalised. "What the hell was all that about?" he demands, dismounting with a crash into the dusty earth, not a ten minute ride from the Castle walls. "They're hunting for me everywhere in there!"

"That's why we need to get away, and fast," Guy replies, not bothering to stop or slow down for Alan. "Follow! Now!" he calls over his shoulder.

He's remounted his horse within a nanosecond, trailing behind Guy who's little more than a black, brooding, blur in the near distance, but he's soon catching up. The ravine, ten miles north. They know they have to be quick before the Sheriff catches on, but for now they're all three content to chase whatever destiny has in store for them.


	2. The Greatest Escape

**Author's Note:** Thank you to the people who've read this story, alerted and taken the time to review. It's much appreciated, so thank you. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Great Escape. **

As she watches her horse lapping greedily at the waters of the river, Marian ponders Guy. She knows this ravine well and found it easily, but the wait had started to get to her. He should be there by now, but every time she climbs the steep embankment to search the road, it remains stubbornly devoid of little black, Guy shaped, specks on the horizon. Up there, she feels exposed, as though Winchester has ultra-human eye sight and can actually see her fleeing his clutches. So, she scrambled back down the ravine over ten minutes ago, and has been there ever since.

To take her mind off the wait, she diverts herself with trying to trace the origins of Guy of Gisborne. Or, to be more precise, of her and Guy of Gisborne. It seems to her, looking back at that moment, as if he simply materialised in her life, like the shadows took substance and Guy just assumed human form before her eyes and had been there ever since. He had taken up residence in her vicinity, in her life, and in her head. He was, in turn, a stubborn black stain in her linens that refused to be washed out; and at the same time, he was the thrill of the hunt, exciting and repellent in equal measure. He has always been a presence in her life she can never quite bring herself to expunge, and that could only mean he had promise. The promise of what, is that which she now ponders.

On the other hand, there is Robin. Robin is a simple man: what you see is what you get; heart firmly on sleeve. He is steady and she always knows where she is with him. He is a good man, who's care and concern for the suffering of others was as real as her own. They belong together, that much is clear to anyone who ever saw them together. So why is it, then, that in the dead of night, she lies awake in bed and imagines -

"Guy!" she calls, her thoughts abruptly cut off as he finally appears, along with another. "Allan," she adds quietly, the name leaving a bitter taste as it rolls off her tongue. Of all the people Guy could have gone back for, it had to be him.

Both men stop and dismount at the edge of the ravine, deciding to lead their horses down to the river rather than risk an unsteady ride over the loose stone embankment. She notices, with some satisfaction, that Allan cannot quite meet her eye as they descend to the river. Guy, however, is smiling, throwing his cheekbones into relief, the dark shadow of stubble lining his jaw, blue eyes reflecting the sun under the loose, raven dark fringe.

"Marian," he greets her, relief in his voice, "we've been looking everywhere-"

"What's he doing here?" she interjects, jabbing an accusing finger at a shrinking Allan A Dale.

Allan is scandalised. "Hang on a minute, you'd be marching down the aisle of oblivion with the earl of Winchester right now, if it weren't for me. Tell 'er, Guy."

Marian feels keenly the pinching of her pride. "If I hadn't needed a diversion, you'd be stretching the gallows right now so I think this one's mutually beneficial-"

"Cut it out, both of you!" Guy cuts across them both before the horns can truly lock in.

Marian sighs while Allan busies himself with the horses, mutinous from Guy's rebuke and her rebuff. As soon as he is by the waters edge, Marian turns to Guy. The dust from the road is all over his cloak, the ride has been tough on him. The silence between them swells uncomfortably like a sprained ankle. She tries to smile, but the result is nothing more than a twitch, more like a nervous tick, at the corners of her mouth.

"You killed the Guard, didn't you?" she finally asks.

He doesn't answer, but she's seen his reaction before. Like a child caught with his hands in the sugar jar, except the offence is a hundred fold more serious. The colour darkens in his face, he averts his gaze and pretends to be watching the idle flow of the river towards Nottingham Castle. But then Guy resolves himself, and turns to meet her gaze almost defiantly.

"I had to get you out of there," he justifies himself, "whatever the cost. Would Hood have done any different?"

He's challenging her, or at least that's what it feels like. "He wouldn't just kill-"

"Then he would have left you to be sold into the marriage bed, then?"

The triumphant glitter in his eye disgusts her. "No, he would have found another way. I know he would," she retorts hotly. "And how do I even know that Winchester was going to marry me? I only have your word for it-"

"I wouldn't lie to you-"

Her laughter cuts him off, mirthless and sardonic. The tone cuts him to the soul, she can see it in his expression. "That's just your way Guy," she lectures him. "If you have a nut to crack you reach for the sledgehammer first without thinking ahead, without seeing that you'll only crush the fruit inside the shell as well."

He holds her gaze, but his expression is set. Thin lipped and chastened. Expectantly, Marian awaits some further justification, but all he does is lower a bag from over his shoulder. Her bag, full of her trinkets and mementoes.

"This is yours," he explains, placing it at her silk slippered feet. "I kept it safe for you."

He's done it again, she thinks to herself. Moments ago, she was furious with him, only for him to do something selfless, something kind for her. She takes it up by the straps, muttering a 'thank you'.

"So, where are you going now?" she asks, trying to change the subject. "The Sheriff will give you a hard time for this. You'll be punished, no matter what."

Guy laughs, starts walking her along the riverside. "If I go back I die," he said. "No, it's just the three of us, now."

Marian's heart jumps, her brow creasing into a deep frown. "What do you mean, the three of us?" she asks, placing a hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks. "I'm going back to Sherwood Forest; Robin will take care of me from here. He's been an outlaw for years."

Guy looks like he's been kicked in the stomach. Wide eyed and winded, he lowers his gaze as tears glisten and well up. "You can't," he informs her desperately, his voice choked. "Your escape has cost Vaisey the Pact of Nottingham. If his men find you they will kill you instantly-"

For a moment, all Marian can do is glower at him as it dawns on her what he has done. "You did this on purpose!" she accuses shrilly. "You didn't just want me away from Winchester, you made sure you got me well away from Robin, too-"

"Marian, it wasn't like that!" Guy retorts hotly. "The Sheriff was on to me as soon as I left your chambers, I had no time to plan anything-"

"Oh spare me!" she spits at his feet, whirls around and marches away. She doesn't know where she's going, she just wants to be away from him, and his pet traitor. She couldn't bear them to see the tears that burn down her cheeks at this moment. Anyway, she can guarantee that Guy will follow her like a Spaniel puppy wherever she goes. She joked about it to Robin, once. Robin: that simple, uncomplicated soul.

* * *

A sheet of fine, cream, vellum is stretched out on the table in front of the Sheriff. The Pact of Nottingham, unsigned and unsealed. It might as well be torn to shreds. Blood stains mar the surface, dripping from an ornate, curved knife that sits on top of it. The knife was a gift he had bought for Guy, an d that gift had been used to kill a Guard, a death blamed on an escaped prisoner. It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened. Not now that Marian and Guy had both vanished.

Vaisey had been furious. He'd marched through the galleries of the Castle making the Councillors flinch into the shadows like whipped curs at his approach. He'd seen them cross themselves, sending up silent prayers of thanks as he passed them by and let them go unmolested by his towering wrath. The only reason he did that was because the sight of them thrilled him. The fear he inspires, the respect, is something more than human.

Now, however, things are different. He leans across the table and casually cuts himself a slice of the absurd, England shaped, cake he had baked for the occasion of the signing of the Pact, and chews on it thoughtfully. He has Robin Hood in his dungeons. He'd burst into the Council Chamber thinking the Pact was going to be signed, only to find it full of the Sheriff's own soldiers. Naturally, his first instinct had been to hang the bastard. But since the discovery of Guy's betrayal, he had conceived better ideas. Two birds; one stone.

He takes his time over the cake before clicking his fingers at the chief guard. "You there," he addresses the man without looking at him. "Go fetch our new friend from the dungeons. I think we need a little chat."

Immediately, the Guard obeys without demur. While he waits, Vaisey issues another command for more soldiers to be sent out into Sherwood Forest, scouring the woodlands for any sign of either the Outlaws or Guy and Marian. If they get to them first, so be it. But, he has a feeling his guest would do a much better job.

"Well, well, well," the Sheriff claps his hands with glee as Robin is finally deposited in front of him. "The legendary Robin Hood, no less."

Hood remains silent, but Vaisey can feel the hatred radiating from every fibre of the younger man's being.

"Guess what, Hood?" says the Sheriff, making a note to relish every moment of the next few minutes. "Your little love-bird's run off with Guy of Gisborne."

That wiped the lop sided sneer of Hood's face. "You what?" he asks, flat and uncomprehending.

Vaisey's face twists into a grin. "Tell me about it!" he replies, his anger well hidden beneath a mask of joviality. "Really, I'm as surprised as you are. I thought she hated him; I thought she'd sooner die than climb into bed with that gutter snake..." he pauses for dramatic effect -"I do hope he hasn't taken her against her will."

That's done it. Hood is riling, now. He's in a panic. "Where. Is. She?" he demands, declaratively. "If he's hurt her, I swear.." but his words trail off as he struggles to articulate exactly what he will do.

Vaisey just gives a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. "You tell me," he says to the roof beams. "But you know what Guy's capable of. You know what he could be doing, and he could be doing it right now."

This is getting entertaining for Vaisey. Hood has turned scarlet with suppressed rage, his weak spot had always been the girl. The damsel in distress. It was all so easy. He can bring him onside, unite against a common enemy, and Gisborne will pay for humiliating him in front of the nobility as he had. He may even get the girl in the process, as well as the Outlaws. He could have a bumper crop of heads if he plays his cards right, and Hood is too outraged to see he's being led down the garden path. He does know that he's being led somewhere, though.

Robin fixes Vaisey in a hard stare. "You're not telling me all this for no reason, are you?"

Vaisey gives a slow, deliberate, shake of his head. "I grant you amnesty; you bring me Gisborne … alive."

There is a moment's silence as Hood ponders the deal, trying to suss out the traps. But seeing none, he knows he has no real choice. It's a get out of jail free card. "You're on," he agrees at length.

Vaisey smiles; the trap is set.

* * *

It is dusk, and the end of a very long day. Guy leads the way, with Marian sufficiently subdued to finally follow him, and Allan silently trailing after them like a stray dog. They don't speak; they don't even look back at one another. Guy made several attempts to slow his pace to allow Marian to catch up with him, but he slowed so did she and their distance remained as wide as ever. But as a tavern finally comes into view, and they stable their horses in the outhouse, he finally gets his chance.

"You're worried about your father, aren't you?" he asks her.

Her expression darkens as she continues to re-tether her horse. "Of course I am," she murmurs, still not looking at him.

He waits for her to say more, wary of barraging her with talk, but she stubbornly refuses to take his bait.

They cannot book into the tavern, but they have a barn that will provide overnight shelter, unbeknownst to the proprietor. He wonders if this is contributing to her ongoing sulk. He feels it himself, as he only ever wanted to provide her with the best of everything and he feels his failure acutely.

"Things will get better," he assures her, "I promise."

She finally makes brief eye contact – a small acknowledgement of his continued existence. "It can't get much worse for you."

Guy had to concede that small point. But, he was at that stage where he would do anything to see her smile again. Anything to win her approval. He thinks on it as he secures his horse beside Allan's, and waits for her to do likewise. By the time she joins him outside, he has made up his mind. "I'm going to get your father," he tells her.

"How?" she gasps, turning to look him full in the face, now.

He raises a pained smile. "I know all the ways in and out of the Castle, I know that place better than I know myself," he replies, walking her back out to forecourt of the empty tavern. He glances through the windows, even inside it seems deserted. "There's a way into the dungeon, and if I can get in there I can get your father out. I still have a set of keys, remember."

He watches her reaction carefully, eager for any sign of gratitude and approval. But she simply bites her lip. "It's too dangerous," she flatly states. "I cannot let you do it."

But like a dog with a bone, he's on to it and will not let go. "Allan got into the Castle all the time when he was with Hood and his Outlaws," he argues. "All we need is a disguise, and an escape route. It'll be easy-"

"But there's only three of us," she counters.

"Two – I'm not letting you risk your life!"

She goes to argue with him again, but he places a forefinger softly over her lips. "No, Marian," he tells her, "I need you to stay safe and let me and Allan handle this. Then, when your father's safe, we can get out of here and start over again. A new life for all of us."

Hope curls in his heart as her expression softens. He is winning her over, he can sense it. Her heart cries yes, but her brain hesitates with just that nag of caution holding her back. She will love him if he can get Sir Edward out of that prison cell in Nottingham Castle, and that's all he ever wanted. If he can't have that, then life really isn't worth living. She smiles her first natural smile since they fled the castle that afternoon. "Yes," she says, resolutely. "Do it."


	3. The Rescue Mission

**Author's Note:** thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and alerted this story – it means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, and I don't own any of this, and nor do I write for profit of any kind. Thank you again, and if you have a moment, reviews would be appreciated (but are not essential).

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Rescue Mission.**

"Gis, it's suicide!" Allan splutters between mouthfuls of wheaten bread and small ale. Guy inwardly flinches against the use of his new nickname, but decides now is not the time to protest. He needs A Dale's natural cunning and charm. Allan drops the bread in his hands, gesticulates to the ceiling of the tavern – the lone female owner of which he has already succeeding in 'charming'. "We'll be walking into an early grave-"

"Oh, don't give me that," Guy retorts, discreetly dabbing at the spittle that hit the corner of his eye, "you've broken into that Castle more times than I've had hot dinners. Once more, for old time's sake? For Sir Edward's sake?"

They are sitting opposite each other, a small, tallow fat candle splutters and hisses as it burns to the wick, is their only source of light as the sun begins to set. They're still using the barn and outhouse for shelter, just for an easy get away if needs be, but thanks to Allan's charms the proprietor doesn't mind. She's leaning across the bar now, inspecting a goblet and pretending she's not listening in to their conversation. But, Allan is considering it, Guy can tell that much, he just needs to push the right button. "For Marian's sake," he adds in an undertone.

Allan sighs, stabs at a hunk of bread with a forefinger as though it's done him a personal wrong. "You're worse than Robin, you know that?"

Guy takes it as a compliment, smiles broadly. "We leave at first light tomorrow, but we won't talk about it here."

Allan frowns. "Why not? She won't tell anyone," he nods to the proprietor, who drops the goblet, caught listening in and tries to cover her tracks by hastily busying herself with the ale taps.

Guy rolls his eyes. "She doesn't need to," he explains. "She's got Marian hiding behind the bar, listening in so she can work out how she's going to follow us, even though I have completely forbidden it."

Together they turn slowly towards the far end of the bar, where the rustle of fabrics and the dull thump of someone bumping their head on wood is followed by the emergence of Marian. Sheepish and hesitant, she reveals herself to Guy and Allan, head hung low but peering up in a perfect hang-dog expression, and closes the gap between them. Guy can see her charm offensive has swung into motion like a well oiled machine.

"Guy, I'm sorry," she begins to explain, her voice soft. "I just want to help-"

"It's too dangerous," he cuts her off. "The more of us there are, the riskier it is. If we fail, your father will be hanged for certain, and I can't take that chance."

"Guy's right, Marian. You stay here; do your hair or something," Allan chips in.

The sudden urge to kick him overcomes Guy, but he resists. Telling Marian to sit at home and be a lady is just one of many ways of bringing out her mulish stubborn-streak. She lifts her chin to look him in the eye, suddenly determined on her own course of action and a picture of defiance.

"If you fail, then you'll all three be hanged," she points out without turning a hair. "I would rather go down fighting alongside you than be left here all alone," she pauses as she sits at Guy's side, pleading with him directly. "I have everything to gain, and nothing to lose. Take me with you, please."

Guy glances over to Allan, hoping for some back-up, but he just pushes back his chair, an officer in retreat from the front line. Gisborne is alone, and Marian is fixing him with her big-blue-eyed-come-hither look. He heaves a sigh, tears his face away from hers, and slumps down in his seat. "Very well," he states gruffly, and regretting it immediately. Not even her squeal of delight brings much comfort, or the way she throws her arms around his neck and plants a firm kiss on his cheek which leaves him blushing and grateful of the semi-darkness.

"Thank you; thank you!" she repeats. "I'll do everything you tell me, I promise."

The pigs in the sty are more likely to take flight than that happening, and Guy well knows it. But all the same, he looks back at her, silently imploring her. "You must," he tells her firmly. "This is serious."

"I know, I know," she replies, still with her arms around his neck. "I'll be good."

* * *

Silence settles with the night, the darkness descending over their hideaway like a shroud. Allan is buried deep in the Tavern servicing Gwen, the proprietor; Marian and Guy while away the hours until dawn in a disused barn. Huddled in the corner, he listens as a solitary owl calls into the night as the nocturnal birds splay their plumes to the stars. Out the window, the full moon hangs high in the heavens, serene and indifferent as she outshines the stars around her. Not since he returned from France has Guy been so deep in rural Nottingham at night, and he had quite forgotten the new life that springs up once the sun goes down. It's like another world out there.

"Where are you going?"

Her voice is slow, stopping him short as he pauses by the door.

"I need some air," he answers.

He had wanted time to think, and clear his head, but he doesn't mind Marian coming with him as they both now step out under the stars of Nottingham. He looks up above, thin wispy clouds scud along the skies, blown by a lunar breeze unfelt on earth. But other than that, the sky is clear, he can spy on the saints from here. When he turns back to Marian, she is doing the same and he can see the tiny pin-prick stars reflected in her clear blue eyes. It makes his heart skip a beat.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asks, trying to fill the silence.

She nods. "Yes."

And so are you, he thinks, but cannot form the words or give them voice. He gulps and looks around the clearing of the Courtyard, lined, as it is, with the sepulchral outlines of gnarled trees that have long since lost their bloom. To the back of them the horses stamp restively in their stalls in the ramshackle stables, sleepless and snorting noisily. But ahead of them is a field with a small expanse of water, and it's in that direction that Guy begins to pace, cloak shrugged tight over his shoulders against the night time chills.

"You're a different man when you're not with him," says Marian, keeping pace with Guy as they head towards the stagnant pond.

"With who?" he asks, even though he knows the answer.

"The Sheriff," she replies with a sigh, she knows that he knows exactly what she's talking about.

He doesn't know how to respond to that; he doesn't know if it's meant as a compliment. Marian, however, keeps talking.

"I don't understand you, Guy," she goes on. "What does he do to you? I have seen you away from him, and know you're a good man. I have seen you show compassion, even if it is small. I have seen you try to do the right thing. But always when that man is nowhere near you. Then, when he comes back, you melt away. You disappear, and this..." her words melt into silence as she struggles to articulate Guy's dual personality. "This thing emerges. You're no longer you; you become an extension of him. You speak his words; perform his actions. It's like he controls you, he has you under a spell."

Marian stops, places her hand on his arm so he must turn to face her. She looks up at him, searching him so intently as if trying to read the answers in his expression, like his eyes could form a gateway to his inner-thoughts and workings if she only looks hard enough. She might as well be trying to read the stars. He finds himself wilting under her gaze, but he cannot look away.

"Do you know what I am most afraid of tomorrow?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

"Not death. Not failure. But I am terrified that you will run into the Sheriff, and fall right back under his spell again."

Giving another shake of his head, he protests. "It won't happen. He'll kill me."

But he knows the guilt he feels at having betrayed the Sheriff. It is a dormant thing, lying inside him unacknowledged, but real all the same. The Sheriff made him. The Sheriff believed in him, even if he didn't always show it. The Sheriff was cruel, a tyrant who's methods left Guy dead inside. But that didn't erase the things he had done for Guy. The things inside him that the Sheriff left dead, Marian has resurrected with just one look. She brought him back to life, and made it worth living once more. He must hang on to that; he must grasp it for all it is worth.

"I am not a puppet," he says, and says it again as if it were a mantra.

"Prove it to me," says Marian. "Tomorrow, you must prove it to me."

Words are useless at times like these, and only his actions on the morrow will show his loyalty. He knows that, so replies with just a nod. They turn to look at the water, they have seen it, and that's all they really wanted. Together, they turn and walk back to the barn to continue their sleepless night in a small degree of comfort.

* * *

"Hear ye! Hear ye!" The town crier's voice cuts across the hustle and bustle of the market place with ease, bringing the populace to a standstill as they all turn to face him on the steps of Nottingham Castle. Once the crowd has settled he continues reading from his scroll of vellum: "Let it be known to all those present; man, woman, and child alike, that Sir Guy of Gisborne is hereby declared a traitor and an outlaw, having been found guilty of conspiring against the King with Robin Hood, and other sundry and divers others, and for plotting the killing of the Sheriff of Nottingham." He pauses as a restive whisper ripples through the assembled throng. Eager for more, they soon fall silent again. "Any one of you found to be sheltering Sir Guy of Gisborne will also be declared treasonous and face the penalty of death. Any one of you who has information on the whereabouts of Sir Guy of Gisborne should arrange an audience with the Sheriff as a matter of urgency." He promptly rolls up the vellum, turns his back on the crowds and disappears back inside the Castle.

Guy, Marian and Allan watch concealed behind an upturned apple-cart, all open-mouthed and shocked. But he doesn't know why. He knows he should have expected this. Expecting it and experiencing it, however, are two different things. Now it is real, now there is no going back, even if he wants to.

The three of them are dressed in peasant rags and stolen cowls that Marian borrowed from a sympathiser friend in the village of Locksley. Guy uses his sword as a walking stick which he crouches over when walking out in the open to disguise his distinctive, tell-tale, height – his shabby new clothes hide it easily. Allan, laughably, has been given the habit of a Monk to keep him concealed at all times. Each has a hood to pull low over their faces. Guy looks suspiciously like a very large old woman with a back problem. Marian, however, is dressed almost like a man. She wears breeches that had been packed into her case, and riding boots. Like the other two, her cloak comes with a deep hood, and her hair is pinned in place with a small, curved dagger.

It's all very impromptu, but it must do. They crawl from out of their hiding space, Guy crouched over his sword-cum-walking-stick, careful to keep its deadly blade concealed under the enormous cloak he's wearing, and Allan pretends to be helping him.

"Not far now, Ethel!" Allan cheerily encourages Guy. "We'll soon have you home, eh?"

Marian suppresses a wave of giggles and Guy kicks out under his scratchy new robes, and lands a dig on Allan's left shin. He disguises his yelp of pain as a coughing fit as a heavily armed troop of guards process past them, almost knocking Guy over as he continues to stoop into his best granny impression. Inside, he wants to kill everyone he is so mutinous.

Marian recovers her composure first. "Allan," she whispers in his ear over Guy's bent back. "Tell the Guards we've come with information about Guy. That'll get us in the Castle no problem."

Guy feels himself being guided up the steps, cold now he has been plunged into the shadow of the fortified walls of the Castle of Nottingham. But a small surge of excitement has swelled in his chest. He knows their disguises won't hold out after they've rescued Sir Edward Knighton, but the thought of the on coming fight excites him now. Once they're in the Castle, he fights the urge to look up, to get his bearings, but he cannot. He allows himself to be passively led through the passageways, down flights of steps to the dungeons. All three huddle close together, now. They cling like limpets to one another as they reach the crucial moment of their rescue mission. Guy can sense that Allan is now reaching into a slit in the front of his habit where his sword and a dagger are safely strapped up against his stomach, the bulge hidden by the loose fabrics. Marian is toying with her hair, where the dagger is concealed. Guy, however, is reaching for the keys to the dungeon that he stole on the day of his escape.

As soon as they reach the dungeons, "Brother Abel" explains to the Guard that he has come from the nearby Monastery to administer Holy Communion to the prisoners. "Sir Edward Knighton is expecting me," explains Allan under his new persona. "Don't mind my friends here, they're coming too. I'm afraid Ethel here is not expected to last the day. She must seek comfort in the goodness of the Lord while she still can."

Marian coos over Guy, rubbing his bent back as if for comfort. The Guard is convinced, but not cooperative.

"That'd be right," he grunts, "second cell on the left. Can't let you in the cell, mind. Sheriff's orders. It'll have to be through the bars; make it snappy."

"Bless you, my son," Allan replies, all piety and Christian duty. "Bless you, indeed." He tops his performance off by making the sign of the cross over the Guard's head.

Guy already has the keys out, clutched in his sweating palms as they slowly make their way to Sir Edward's cell. Marian stops him with a small squeeze of his shoulders as they reach the right one. But Guy's position is such that he cannot see into the cell, he can only see immediately in front of him, and that's the lock.

"What is this?" asks a voice he recognises. Sir Edward.

Marian leans against the cold metal bars. "It is I, father," she whispers low, barely audible. "We've come to get you out. Hush, now."

Guy's hands tremble as he slides the key into the lock, but it doesn't fit. Biting back a curse, he tries each in turn, getting more and more nervous as time ticks by, until finally, the right one is in. He draws back the lock with a soft click, and breathes a sigh of relief. Marian shudders next to him, suppressing her triumphant clamour. But Allan is focused single-mindedly on what comes next. He inches the cell gate open just enough for Sir Edward to fit through, closes it again, and gestures to Guy to re-lock it. Even though it's pointless, he does so any way.

"We're never going to get him past the guards," Guy explains. "We must fight. All of us."

Edward is stunned into silence. He merely gapes open-mouthed and wide-eyed at them each in turn. "Sir Guy!" he mutters, dumbstruck.

"Father, shush!" Marian hisses.

But it's too late, he's brought out the Guard who suddenly careers around the corner, blocking the exit of the dungeon. His face is twisted into a sinister grin. "Well, well, well, look who it is," he calls out in a sing-song voice. "I knew there was something funny about you lot!"

Abandoning his disguise, Guy swiftly draws himself up to full height, bearing down on the guard so fast he has no time to react, he punches the man so hard he sprawls backwards into the filthy rushes on the floor. His quick action prompts the others, but Marian is slowed down by her weakened, emaciated father. "Allan, help her and Sir Edward while I clear the path," he instructs.

Allan looks deeply sceptical, but quickly does as he is told, while throwing off his Monk's habit so he could move more freely and draw his weapons fully. With Marian on the other side, they shoulder Sir Edward much faster as they follow Guy. But, behind them, the dazed and confused Guard is already recovering his wits.

"Stop them!" he bellows frantically down the hallway at their retreating backs, "they're escaping!"

"We'll never make it, Guy," Marian pants as she hauls her father, almost dragging him across the flagstones.

"Wait!" Sir Edward commands, gripped by a sudden burst of energy. "I may be an old man, but I am not done yet. Now give me a weapon."

He cuts Marian's fearful protests off by snatching up Allan's dagger. Drawing on all his strength, he reaches his full height and strides up to Gisborne. Guy gives a shrug, inwardly pleased that the old man has found his fighting spirit at last. As a hue and a cry goes up through the Castle, they pick up their pace in silence, as though acting normal will be enough to get them safely out of there. But only for a moment does the confusion among the Castle guards enable them to pass unnoticed.

When they reach the hallway, near the entrance, they see the Sheriff up on the mezzanine, looking down with apoplectic fury and barking out commands that sends the men running for their arms. He is raging like a strumpet in a tantrum, but his furious tirades break off as his eye lands on Guy. For a second, they look at each other, holding their gaze for just a moment before Vaisey catches on.

"Get them!" he screams at no one in particular. "They're getting away!"

But Guy is transfixed, rooted to the spot as the Sheriff starts running full pelt towards him. It's not until Sir Edward jolts him with a slap on the back that he realises they're being rapidly surrounded. Marian noticed him, too, but as soon as he lashes out at the nearest Guard with his fist, she quickly turns her attention to the fight. Chaos ensues as the Guards all stampede towards them, the air filled with their oaths and the sounds of their heavy boots crashing down the polished oak floors.

"Guy! Look out!" Marian calls shrilly to him. He turns to see a Guard reaching for him and responds with a sword to the man's abdomen.

Once that Guard is dispatched, he shoots a grin at Marian and blocks another Guard who tried to sneak up behind her. "Got your back," he calls in her ear as begins to advance their little troop towards the main exit. She gives him a wink before entering the mélee again.

Seeing his daughter surrounded by Guards, fighting for all their lives, brings out a towering rage in Sir Edward, a rage he thought had vanished with his youth. But now he lashes out at the side of Allan A Dale before these tyrants can even get within spitting distance of his girl. Guy can barely believe what he's seeing in the old man, who'd never been anything but a gentleman in his presence. But that is what being a father is, it makes a lion of the most passive of men, if ever he would but know it. A fleeting vision of he and Marian standing over the cradle of a newborn flashes through his mind.

The distraction costs Guy dearly as something sharp hits him, searing the soft flesh of his belly, but with a cry of pain he kicks his attacker away with such force it sends the Guard reeling back. He falls heavily, and trips several of his colleagues as he goes. Even this small victory will not be enough. They are surrounded on all fronts, and cannot reach the entrance. He can see it in the faces of his companions, too. But they're still fighting. The words Marian spoke the night before ring clear in his head: "I would rather go down fighting alongside you than be left here all alone." He realises, now, just how right she had been. With a great surge of effort, he raises his sword once more.

They miss the first arrow. It sails over-head, landing with perfect precision in the centre of a Guard's forehead, knocking him dead to the floor. Then another narrowly misses the Sheriff as he attempts to throw himself on top of Guy. The third lands right next to Vaisey's foot, a deliberate miss. They all wheel around, and Guy sees the Sheriff's face frozen in utter loathing. There's only one man who can bring out that much special hatred in him, and Guy knows before he even turns, that Robin Hood has crashed another of their parties.

"What's the matter, Vaisey?" calls out the mocking voice of Hood. "You didn't seriously think I'd do your dirty work for you, did you?"

The Sheriff is incoherent with rage as the rest of the Outlaw gang materialise from the shadows and enter the fray with aplomb. It is the lifeline they needed as the Guards suddenly surge towards the Outlaws. The one's who cost them the most money will always take precedence over Guy, Marian, Allan and Sir Edward. As one, they lunge through the crowds towards the door. The guards are no longer on the gates, and the people make no attempt to impede their escape. On the contrary, they call out to Marian and Sir Edward, wishing them Godspeed and thrust baskets of fresh produce in their hands as they pass. Someone has even fetched their horses to the gates of the citadel. Small acts of defiance against a tyrant Sheriff that have made their lives worth living. They represent the promise of something better. Guy is under no illusions, it is all done for Marian and her father; none of it is for him. Some sins, he knows, he can never atone for.

Sir Edward climbs into the saddle with Marian, and soon they are clear of the Castle again. There will be scouts on the roads looking for them, now, so they must hurry. The pain in his belly nags at Guy incessantly. He knows he has been stabbed, he can feel the hot and sticky blood running down his leg, it seeps through his clothes and it's spreading, showing no signs of stopping. Five miles clear of the Castle, the pain reaches the point where he has to stop the horse so he can be sick by the side of the road.

Marian looks back, wondering where Guy has got to, and sees him heaving into the dust. She cries out to Allan, who slows down too.

"Sir Guy!" she calls out, dismounting and running over to him.

He shows her his hands that are now covered in fresh blood. "They got me," he calmly informs her. The pain is unbearable now. He lets himself fall to the floor at his horses flank. The blade is still embedded deeply in his flesh when Marian tears off his shirt, and she gasps, turning deathly white.

He gives a shake of his head as pain washes over him again. He tries to smile through the fear and sickness. "It's all right. You're safe now, and that's all that matters."

His strength is ebbing fast, and he lays down flat on the road while Marian tries screaming his name in his ear to keep him conscious. But he feels himself slipping away. Before the darkness closes over him, however, he reaches down to the wound and yanks hard on the blade, pulling it free and bringing a tidal wave of white hot pain washing through him. He cries like a wounded animal, Marian throws her arms around him, cradling him in her lap and rocking him gently until he is still once more.

"Father, help him, please!" she cries out again, her voice shaking with emotion.

Guy, however, is beyond speech. He lets the darkness close over him, pulling him under a deep, dark tide of blissful sleep.


	4. Temptation

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, I really do appreciate your input. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Reviews are always well received, thank you again.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Temptation.**

Marian makes her own light as she stands swathed in white; lost in a vellum scroll she is reading in the darkening hallway. She is oblivious to Guy's presence in the outer-gallery, where the light of a solitary torch flickers from its sconce set in the wall. He inches closer, and pauses in the archway that separates the chamber and the passage, and looks on in admiration as she shimmers in the fading light. Slowly, she glances up from the scroll, and a serene smile spreads across her face as she becomes aware of him looking. She rolls up her vellum and slips it down the front of her bodice, an erotic gesture slowly played out for his benefit. Her eyes glitter with playful mischief as she hitches up the hems of her gown, and begins to run, glancing coyly over her shoulder to make sure he is following.

"Let me lead you into temptation," she says in a low whisper that he can barely make it out.

It amuses him to play along; he gives chase and follows her down the long gallery through which she flees. She pauses, concealing herself behind a pillar before she gets too far away, but when he gets too close she takes flight once more. Soundless; wordless, the game continues with her slipping from his grasp at the last minute. Her playful laughter is carried back to him as she darts from the tips of his fingers and around a corner. He can close the gap between them once more. He reaches out and catches a fistful of her gown as it billows out behind her but she evades him, and he is left holding a single solitary silk ribbon that had been tied around her waist. He holds it delicately between his fingers, and presses it to his lips for luck. Surely now, the rest of her will follow?

"Guy," she whispers in his ear, materialising suddenly at his side, "come, let me show you my graven images."

He turns to look at her, and her lips are kissing distance from his cheek. "What man can resist?" he asks, raising his gaze from the swell of her bosom to meet her eyes.

But she ignores the question, her smile widening, as she beckons with an enticing gesture towards a door that stands ajar. He had not seen it before, he could swear it wasn't there at all. But Marian slips inside as nimbly as a fawn evading her hunter. He goes to follow, but as soon as he steps inside, the door slams shut behind him. He whirls around, expecting to see Marian hiding there, but she is gone. Mystified, he looks behind him. At the far end of a room is a table, covered in a fine linen cloth, set for two. A fresh bouquet of wild flowers sit in a glass jar and the table is set with glittering silverware. A large beeswax candle is sitting prettily in a decorative bed of leaves in the centre. Two chairs, already pulled out, are at opposite sides of the table.

Unable to think of anything else to do, Guy sits in one of them and takes a look around. There is only one other way out of this room – through a small side door, probably used by the servants. He studies it for a minute, wondering if Marian had gone through that door to evade him, but when he rises to investigate, he realises he already has company. And it's not Marian.

The man is well dressed with an immaculately manicured goatee beard. Greased with Goose fat, it is curled at the ends to a fine point. His dark, greying hair, is swept back off his forehead, revealing two small, but painful looking, pointed protrusions from his temples. Apart from the horns, it's the eyes that get Guy's attention: slanted, yellow irises with black slitted pupils like a goat's. The man smiles benevolently revealing a row of perfectly even teeth. The only thing letting down his impeccable personage is the acrid smell of sulphur that lingers about his slender body.

"Not quite what you were expecting, Guy?" he asks, reaching into the inside pocket of his pinstriped jacket and taking out two fine scrolls of vellum.

Guy is bewildered. "Er," he replies dumbly, trying to work out who – what – is sitting opposite him. "Satan?" Even as he says it, it seems childish.

"At your service," Satan confirms, his voice rich and resonant, as he glances at another piece of paper. "The House red, I think," he mutters aloud, but not really consulting Guy. He clicks his fingers, revealing long, black talons of nails, and suddenly a bottle of French red wine appears on the table. The Devil pours them both a glass and gives one a gentle nudge in Guy's direction, making the contents spill over the side. "Trust me, Guy, you'll be needing that. Now then, I think I'll have my steak rare …. Er, no. Business first; pleasure later, I think. Don't you agree, old boy?"

Satan drops the menu he was consulting onto the table top and looks at Guy measuredly through the romantic candlelight glow. He's surprised by his own lack of fear. He's not afraid of going to hell. He's not afraid of finding himself dining with the horned one, at all. But then, Guy reasons, he did work with Sheriff Vaisey for several years. After that, Beelzebub doesn't look so bad, after all.

Satan leans back in his seat and gives a thoughtful twirl of his goatee. "You know, Guy, they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions," he says, ponderously. "So, you'll forgive me for the manner in which I brought you here."

A penny drops in his mind. "Marian," he replies flatly. That wasn't really her he had chased, it was this creature cunningly disguised as her. He thinks he should have known all along,

Satan pulls a distasteful face. "I hate to be so vulgar, dear boy. But Marian really is the sum of all your lifetime's worth of good intentions. So, you see, I wasn't exactly spoiled for choice when it came to paving your path to my door."

To hide his shame, Guy lifts his glass of wine and gazes thoughtfully into its depths. He casts around desperately for any idea of what to do next, but it's not every day that you find yourself dining with the devil. He wonders if it's a game; if he needs to outwit this entity. But when he looks across the table again, Satan is unrolling one of the vellum scrolls he produced from the pocket of his pinstriped coat when he first sat down. One talon brushes delicately over the surface, where spidery black scrawl forms a list. "Now, where was I before you came along?"

Satan pauses, looks up, and nods to the glass in Guy's hand. "Drink it, old boy," he advises, "because we're starting now." With a pause for breath, Satan turns to the top of the list. "Item: extortion. Boring! Item: arson. Oh! Tut, tut! Item: abandonment of one's own child in the woods. That's not very fatherly now, is it Guy?" Satan breaks off and glances over the top of the vellum, giving him a most reproving look. "Item: murder. My, my; haven't you been a naughty boy, Guy of Gisborne."

Satan wags a finger of exaggerated admonishment at him from over the sheet, bringing a burst of irritation out in Guy.

"Look, I know it's bad-"

"Oh, Guy, I already know you're innocent," explains Satan with a start. "You see, this place is a bit like prison in that respect. It only ever seems to be full of people who've done nothing wrong. You should have heard the chap I got last week..." he chortles to himself as he sinks in to his own private memories of sinners gone-by. "With the Tanner's wife, in the scullery, no less. She was young enough to be his granddaughter!"

With a gasp, Satan turns to the second scroll of vellum. "Forgive me, Guy, I digress. Now, what have we here..." he trails off again as he turns his attention to the scrawl. "Ah yes, the seven deadly sins. Lust: check (see serving girl knocked up with a baby left in the woods. I like how you combine sins, Guy, that's very intuitive of you). Greed: check – how could it be any different working for the dear old Sheriff. Sloth: check – you really should rub your own feet you know, that's not what Robin's servants are for! Envy: does the name Robin Hood ring any bells?-"

"I am so not jealous of Robin Hood!" Guy protests angrily, almost hitting the table. Having his sins and foibles read out to him is one thing, but false accusations of envy with Robin Hood is quite another thing.

Satan raises a thin black eyebrow. "Clearly!" he remarks sardonically and looks back at his list. "Ah, how appropriate. Wrath: yes, I think so, too? Don't you, Guy? Pride: well, that much is evident."

But then Satan pauses, and sighs in disappointment. "You know, for a moment there I thought you and I were going to be friends."

Guy's brow furrows deeper into a frown of utter discontent. Satan really wanted to be his friend? "Really?" he asks monotonously. "I guess that's another deadly sin, isn't it? Disappointing you."

Satan nods thoughtfully. "Now, now, don't be like that. But, yes, you've let me down at the last minute. You haven't committed the sin of gluttony. Not without opportunity either, and that just makes it all the more disappointing, Guy. That was almost a full house you had there."

"I am truly sorry to have let you down."

"And now you've lied to me!" Satan exclaims, throwing his hands in the air, a gesture akin to jubilation. "There's hope for you yet, old boy!"

Guy is still none the wiser, so waits patiently for him to continue reading out his sins. His schoolroom Priests got it wrong, however, the Devil can be quite the charmer – even when he is reading out your charge sheet.

Satan drops the second vellum onto the first, leaning forwards in his seat and studying him intently. "It's just as well I'm not real, isn't it?" he asks, but the question is rhetorical. "All I am, Guy, is a twisted fantasy wrung from your fevered imagination as you hover between life and death because of a knife wound in your shrinking belly. Blame it on the blood loss, dear boy, blame it on the blood loss. But all the same, I think our little dinner date has given you food for thought. Because I'm trying to tell you something: getting the girl won't wipe your slate clean. Getting the girl won't make you a hero in the eyes of the people you secretly crave to please. Nor can you run forever, because all your sins will find you out in the end."

Guy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking for the exits so he doesn't have to hear this creature stripping him to the bone and revealing him to himself any longer. If none of this is real, then surely he's free to leave? Satan seems to have read his thoughts.

"You may go by the side door, Guy," he says, "I don't want anyone to see you leaving here; I have my relentlessly unforgiving reputation to protect."

Wasting no time, he darts out of his chair and lunges towards the door. As he passes, however, Satan reaches out and swats him firmly across his backside, an impish grin marring his features.

"Ouch!" he yelps.

Satan winks at him. "Run along now, and remember to play nicely," he warns Guy as a parting shot.

He shoulders the door, bursting outside and slams it shut behind him, shutting out that … thing … forever. But as the door slams behind him, he finds himself being pushed forwards at great speed and before he hits the ground he wakes up screaming into an impenetrable darkness in a room unknown to him.

* * *

"Guy, hush!" Marian soothes him gently, two soft hands placed on his shoulders she gently eases him back into bed. "Hush, now, it was only a dream."

His legs are entwined in the damp, twisted sheets his body exposed with a nightshirt riding perilously high up his thighs. Marian is polite enough to pretend she has not noticed as she begins fussing over his blankets. The residue of the dream in still stains his retinas. "The devil was wearing pinstripes," he tells her, squinting through the glutinous darkness at her.

"Very dashing, I am sure," she answers, plumping his pillows, "but you must sleep now. You hear me?"

He can see that she has spent the night in a chair beside his bed, watching over him as he slept. The darkness is cast in to relief by embers glowing in the hearth; moonlight slanting through the shutters on the windows. As his eyes adjust to the poor light, he can see her smiling down at him as he settles against the mattress. She pulls a heavy quilt up and tucks it under his chin.

"He was real-"

"No, he wasn't," Marian retorts, cutting him off before he can dwell further on his fevered meandering mind. "Your wound was infected; you've been unconscious for days. Allan had to fetch a real Monk to administer physic to you; to pray for your soul. It is small wonder you're being troubled by bad dreams".

"Days?" he repeats, and he can see that Marian regrets telling him even that much. "Where are we?"

"Sleep, Guy," she shushes him, placing a sweet tasting finger softly against his lips, "father has it under control. Don't worry about a thing. Sleep."

"No," he whimpers, fighting against his own ebbing strength, he attempts to throw off the bedsheets. All his memories of his last few days of consciousness come rushing back to him, setting his heart beat racing. "We must keep moving. The Sheriff-"

"Guy, no, I forbid it," Marian scolds, pushing him back down and securing him in place by tucking his bedding under the mattress. She may as well tie him down while she's at it. "When you are well, we will move on. But not a moment before that time. You brought my father back to me, and I will not let you die as a consequence."

She may be exhausted, but her fighting spirit is present in its full force. He knows when he is defeated. He lets her do as she will, and when she is done she draws her chair closer to his bedside and cups his cheek in her hand.

"I thought..." her words trail off as she struggles to find the words to say. Not normally a problem for Marian. Eventually, she gives a small shake of her head. "Never mind. Go to sleep, now and the Devil be damned. I won't let him get you."

He wants to tell that she was the Devil, or rather that the Devil was her. "You're my good intention," he informs her as he surrenders to his exhaustion.

* * *

For the rest of that night, the Devil stays away. So does everyone and everything else, and his sleep is deep, peaceful and restorative. Marian, however, does not believe him. She hovers over his bed, from the moment he awakens, spooning weak broth and chicken stew into his mouth, refusing to accept that he can feed himself if only she would let him sit up and use his own two arms. Briefly, he is released from his bindings so his dressings can be changed – a job she happily delegates to Allan A Dale as the smell is still rather pungent.

"Thought you'd had it, Gis," Allan breezily informs him as he dabs an evil smelling ointment on to Guy's open wound. It's deeper than he remembers, and raw around the edges were the infection took hold, bringing on the fever that sent him on a dinner date with the Devil.

"I don't know what I'd do without your eternal optimism, Allan," replies Guy, gritting his teeth against the sharp sting of the ointment. Pain, he reasons, is because it's doing its job.

"I'll always be 'ere for you, Gis, don't you ever forget it," he quips, sticking a new, clean linen binding to Guy's abdomen.

"Touching; really touching, Allan."

He won't say anything, but Guy has grown fond of having Allan around. His humour was sometimes grating, his habits would drive a saint to drink, and it was only his practical uses that had seen him retained in the Gisborne household. But now that he had gotten used to the former Hood Outlaw, he would have him there than not have him there.

"Allan, be honest with me, where are we?" he asks just as Allan finishes patching him up.

"They're friends of Sir Edward's, and they're away at Court. This is their summer retreat. That's all I know," he answers, clearly reluctant; clearly having been warned by Marian about divulging too much while he was still bedridden. "We're close to Nottingham, though. Too close, if I'm honest."

"And how long have we been here?"

"Five days exactly."

Much too long. Guy sighs heavily. "Help me pack, we need to get out of here fast before anyone betrays us," he instructs Allan. "Sir Edward's friends aren't exactly loyal, are they?" He suppresses a shudder as recent memories of the earl of Winchester come flooding back. He was the reason they were where they are.

Allan does as he's instructed while Guy steadies himself after getting out of his bed. All the time, however, he's trying to reason. "The servants left to look after this house are on our side," he explains to Guy, trying to be reassuring. "They scout the roads looking out for the Sheriff's men for us-"

"Yes, but can we trust them?" Guy retorts, pulling a shirt on over his head. His weight has dropped, and he's light headed from lack of activity. "The only people we can trust is each other. Now go and tell Marian and Sir Edward we're leaving."

Not ten minutes after Allan leaves the room does Marian's shrill voice ring down the hallway outside, loudly protesting against the decision to leave. But Guy is adamant, his heart back flips every time he thinks about how long they've been in this place, open and exposed to anyone who could pop by at any minute. Her voice draws nearer, accompanied by the deathly thump of her footsteps pounding rapidly down the corridor outside. He busies himself with packing his few belongings, the ones retrieved from the barn during his illness, and pretends he has not heard her when she barges in.

"Guy, you cannot be serious about this?" she snaps at him as she bursts through the door.

Guy continues packing up. "I'm quite well -"

"It's not just you!" she interjects. "My father is elderly, and cannot be whisked off like this. He needs time to prepare and somewhere to go."

Guy stops and turns to face her. "We'll find somewhere," he tries to assure her. "Just as long as it's not here."

Marian is not pacified. She steps closer to him, he can see her eyes ablaze with indignation, her cheeks flaring red with anger. "This constant running will be the death of him," she shrieks. "We might as well have left him where he was, for all this. Guy, please, reconsider?"

They have already stayed too long, he is sure of that. Vaisey isn't just going to give up searching for him; they need to keep moving. They will spend the rest of their lives running. But she's so hard to resist and he can't bring himself to enrage her any further. "Prepare to leave," he tells her. "We can stay; so long as we're prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Bags packed, and horses saddled. I mean it: we must be ready to flee at the drop of a hat. And I'm sending a scout out to look for somewhere else for us to move on to as soon as possible."

Mollified, Marian takes a deep, cleansing breath and allows the smile to return to her face. "Thank you, Sir Guy," she finally replies, the relief etched in her face.

* * *

It wasn't until dawn, the following day, that they finally came for them. Guy was almost relieved when it happened; waiting for the inevitable was never a pleasant task. But he regretted the hour. They had been asleep, and the scouts had spotted the approaching soldiers only two miles on the road from Nottingham. Through the confusion and semi-somnambulent fumbling, they all had to dress to escape by the back road or face another fight, when the strongest of them – Guy – was still recovering from the last. They had no option but to run for it, and hope for the best.

Outside the door, Guy bumps into Allan A Dale. "Are the horses ready?" he asks.

"Yes," he replies, fastening his jacket and prepared to leave already. "I'll bring them round the back, you help Marian with her father."

"Thanks, Allan."

The older man is slow. Even after five days of rest he is impeding them, but Guy knows better than to ask Marian to leave without him. She remains at her father's side, letting him lean on her as he tries to hurry himself out of the back door. He himself hoists Sir Edward onto his horse with Marian jittery and nervous as she watches in the early morning mist.

"Go on ahead him," Guy tells her, "I'll get your things and follow."

Marian starts. "Guy, no-"

"Marian, just do as I say," he retorts firmly.

He doesn't wait for an answer, he rushes back inside for their few bags of belongings, and is relieved to see that Marian and Sir Edward have already gone by the time he returns. Only Allan A Dale remains, waiting to load up the pack horse they've purloined for their journey. But he starts to fumble with the straps as the sound off approaching hooves draw nearer all the time – it sounds like there's a whole army tracking them. Guy sends up a silent prayer that the sounds are just carrying further than usual on the still morning air, but he can almost smell the horses sweat as he and Allan finally get their belongings secured.

As soon as he's in the saddle, he hears the familiar voice of his former Sergeant at Arms calling out to the servants. "Open up, or we'll kick the door in!" Followed moments later by the sound of boots tramping around the side of the house.

"For God's sake, Guy, get a move on!" Allan hisses from his mount.

His own men sent out to hunt him down. It makes his blood run cold, but there's no time to dwell. He digs his spurs into the horses flanks just as a foot soldier rounds the corner of the yard and spots them as they make their getaway.

The soldier's voice carries clearly: "Round the back! They're getting away!"

Both Allan and Guy spur their horses on as fast as they can go as the Sheriff's men give chase. Guy tries to estimate how far ahead Marian already is, despite being just grateful that she had a head start. But to avoid leading the soldiers to her, he diverts anyway, and steers his horse down a side track just to try and shake them off. He says nothing to Allan, but he knows Guy's intentions, and steers off at another angle to confuse their pursuers even more. If it does not, only God knows what will become of them, now.


	5. Turning the Tide

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and favourited/alerted this story: it means a lot so thank you. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. As always, reviews would be most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Turning the Tide.**

The Sergeant at Arms continues to give chase through the woodlands Guy had diverted into to get off the road. He curses silently into the wind as his horse crashes deeper into the woodlands, eventually slowing down to a trot – as fast as he dares in this part of the forest where the trees grow so close together. Branches snag at his hair and clothes, the protruding roots threatening to destabilise his horse, and he has a feeling he is being backed into an invisible corner. Like the forest has eyes and ears of its own, and he is being lured into a trap of nature's making.

"Hold!" a voice booms sonorously through the trees, loud enough to set a flock of small birds to sudden flight.

They're closing in, and he knows he has got to fight.

He reaches a clearing in the trees; not big, but big enough to give him some breathing space. Over the sound of his own beating heart, Guy can hear the distant sound of trampled undergrowth and snapping branches drawing ever closer, and it seems to come from all around him as if he's surrounded already. On instinct, he draws his sword ready for the fight he knows is to come. The first person to break through to the clearing, however, is Allan.

"Are they still chasing you?" asks Guy, lowering his sword from Allan's throat. He had only just realised it was him in time.

"I think so," he replies, "tried to shake them off about a mile back, but they're like hounds on the scent."

Now all their pursuers have to do is follow the trail of forest destruction they have left in their wake. The noise of the approaching soldiers grows deafening, and they both wheel their horses around to see better, but still the noise is panoramic, throwing confusion into the mix of chaos. "Where the hell are they?" snaps Guy, sword still at the ready. He's prepared to fall in the fight, there can be no surrender for him and by the looks of it, Allan is of the same mind. His sword is unsheathed already.

"Marian got away," says Allan. "Her tracks are covered, too."

That much, at least, gives Guy comfort as finally, the Guards led by his old Sergeant at Arms finally comes crashing through the undergrowth and trees, into their clearing. The fight is going to be in a tight spot. But, the Sergeant holds up his hand to Guy, and throws out his left arm, a signal for his men to halt. They do so grudgingly, all breathless and looking daggers across the clearing to where Guy and Allan reign in their restive horses.

"God's death, Gisborne, I've been looking for you everywhere!" the Sergeant at Arms pants, breathless from the long chase through the woods. His face is florid from the ride, his eyes darkening from lack of sleep. The Sheriff must be running them into the ground, or testing their loyalty.

Guy's blood is up: "You know I won't surrender, George, you won't get us back to the Castle alive. We both know happens next."

George looks mildly amused. "I don't think we do," he answers. "Gentlemen, lay down your weapons."

Guy doesn't flinch, instead gripping the handle of his sword all the tighter and turning his knuckles white with the effort. The point is still trained on his adversary's chest. To his surprise, however, the men at arms really do lay down their swords. There are only four of them, but compared to the two they were up against, their numbers are sufficient. But it still strikes Guy that there should be a lot more of them. The Sheriff has hundreds at his command.

"What's going on?" asks Guy, looking from the men to their Sergeant. "What are you playing at?"

George slides down from his horse and gives the signal for his men to remain where they are while he crosses the small clearing to where Allan and Guy now huddle together, still on horseback.

"Sir Guy, I swore my fealty to you – not Vaisey. We've come to fight for you," explains George.

Guy and Allan exchange a glance, neither knowing what to do next. It could be a trap; it could be a lifeline. "Cover me," he says to Allan, and sheaves his own sword before dismounting. Turning to his Sergeant at Arms, he says: "we need to talk."

* * *

The meeting place had been agreed by them all. They all know it, and they have all had dealings with the religious order who own the establishment, and anyone – from thieves and murderers to outlaws – can seek Sanctuary within its walls. They will be safe there, even if the amenities were basic, to say the least. Marian had pleaded infirmity for her father, and managed to secure for him a place inside the Monk's hospital. But she, as well as Guy and Allan, would be confined to one of the out-houses designated for travellers and sanctuary seekers of all walks. The only problem she has now, is that Guy and Allan are nowhere to be seen.

To distract herself, she busies herself with sweeping out the small, circular dwelling she has been allocated by the Franciscan Monks. Then she lit a fire in the hearth in the center of the room, the smoke curling through the a hole in the high, thatched roof. Fresh herbs hung on a peg by the door, to be burned to sweeten the air inside the hut. Well over an hour has passed before she is finished, time enough for Guy and Allan to catch her up. And she knows they will catch her up, any notion of them having been caught is one she pushes forcibly to the back of her mind.

She leaves, ducking under the perilously low doorway, making a mental note to warn Guy about it before he concusses himself, and sets off across the Courtyard. Ignoring the gaping Novices who feed the free-roaming chickens in the yard, she stands by the main gate, and watches the road like a hawk, cursing herself for letting themselves get separated yet again. But the horizon remains stubbornly empty. The only travellers on these obscure back roads are peasants and farmers, passing by to the local market in the next village. A lone shepherd herds his flock, and a few Good Wives herd their children to their squat, wattle and daub, homes.

The minutes bleed into hours, each passing moment taking with it some of Marian's initial optimism of Guy and Allan's safe return. By high-noon, she is thinking ahead – what to do if they never come back? She has Robin; she can go to him now and be there by nightfall. She cannot define the feelings that stop her; or the force that seems to keep her in this place, watching the defiantly empty roads.

"Marian."

The sound of her father's voice intrudes upon her thoughts, jolting her back into the present. Glad of the distraction, she turns from the gate and faces him with a smile.

"Papa!" she calls back, rushing over to embrace him. It puts the smile back on his face, a rare sight on him since he was broken out of the Castle, and it lifts Marian's spirits in return. "It's as well the weather is mild, for all the time I spend outside watching roads, these days," she says, trying for all it's worth to remain light hearted. "Come and join me."

"I'd love to; and here, the brothers have sent you some food," he informs her, holding out a package wrapped in greased paper. Marian takes it gratefully, finding inside some manchet bread, fresh butter and some cheese. All produced on the Monastery, stocked from their efficient farm. Sir Edward looks quizzically at her as they sit on the roadside verge just beyond the gates. "You're waiting for Guy," he observes, emphasising the name.

Marian looks away from him, pretending to be more interested in her bread than the conversation. "And Allan," she corrects him, as if the omission of his name had been an oversight, "Allan's gone to a lot of trouble for us."

"Naturally," says Sir Edward, clear from the tone of his voice that he is aware something is changing. "But you have never been engaged to Allan A Dale before-"

"I don't see how that's relevant, father," she interjects before he can get too close to home.

The silence is loaded, weighing on them both. Marian can sense that Edward has not given up, that he wants to continue with his gentle probing of her feelings for Guy of Gisborne. He's just mulling over what he thinks will be the path of least resistance. After a few more minutes spent in silence, it seems he thinks he's found it.

"You spent an awful lot of time with Guy when he was sick," he points out, hinting that he would like an explanation.

Still looking away from him, Marian rolls her eyes. "I would have done the same for anyone, and well you know it, father."

Sir Edward shifts so that he is looking directly at her, even though her eyes are still fixed into the far distance. "And you would spend all day peering down an empty road for anyone, would you? Even though you know you have, er, other friends, in other places."

Irritation flares in her belly. "Yes, father," she retorts, trying with every fibre of her being not to shout at him, and make him sad with her anger. "I would. I would do it for anyone who had given up so much to help us. As a friend."

"Well that's all right, then," says Sir Edward. "Because it means I don't have to worry about you taking off in the middle of the night to go and look for him. Doesn't it?"

The final two words of that sentence were very emphatically spoken, and Marian blushed deeply. It had crossed her mind. It had crossed her mind more than once, but she isn't about to let on to her father. "Of course not. I don't have a death wish."

To emphasise a point of her own, she wraps up what remains of her luncheon and gets to her feet. "If you don't mind, I'm tired," she lies easily, she's just had enough of his interrogation. "I want to lie down now. If Guy returns, tell him he is not disturb me at all." She adds her final point for good measure; no, she definitely does not care inappropriately for that man. With her point decisively made, she walks back across the yards, glowers at the wide-eyed Novices, and slams the hut door behind her.

* * *

It hardly matters if the Sheriff's men find them here. With George and his retainers, even just the four of them, back firmly in his service, Guy knows he can fight off a search party easily. But, Taverns are not his natural habitat and he feels uneasy all the same. However, his men deserve a drink at least, and he's not about to deny them that. He himself has treated himself to a bottle of French red, despite it reminding him strongly of the strange dreams he had of drinking with the Devil.

Allan A Dale has vanished among the crowds, taking three goblets from the Tavern Keeper with him. Whatever it is he's up to, Guy has decided it's probably best he doesn't know too much. Instead, he focuses on George, listening intently to what Vaisey has been up to since Guy's own desertion and subsequent banishment. They keep their voices low, secreted into a closed off cubicle where they cannot be easily overseen, are the precautions they take. They may have improved numbers, and better weaponry, but they're still not going to invite trouble.

"He's still more concerned with Hood's gang, more so now because he tried to do a deal with Hood," explains George, topping up Guy's glass with wine. "He had Robin in the dungeons the day you left; caught him in the Castle itself trying to infiltrate the Black Knights. His whole gang were there, but they got away fine. They have sympathisers among the Sheriff's men, too, and they let them out safely. But Robin reneged on his deal with Vaisey the day you rescued Sir Edward. Hood was meant to join the fight with the Guards, and instead he used it as an opportunity to attack the Castle."

Guy shrugs. "He knew Marian was there; he'd never harm her, not even if it meant getting me. How many more Guards do you think would come over to our side? If the Sheriff's own men turn against him in enough numbers, we could have a chance to defeat him. But, we need guarantees."

"We can never be certain," replies George, "and the risk is too great to take. We could do it by stealth. Listen, without you, the Sheriff is alone, but Prince John will soon send a replacement for you. All we need to do is capture the Sheriff, and get him in a place where he has no choice but to follow our orders."

"He would still be Sheriff, but in name only," states Guy, "we could have him dancing to our tune and get him to stand his own Guards down, then we can send my replacement packing, and Prince John cannot destroy Nottingham because Vaisey is still alive; alive, but under our control."

"That's the crux of it, he has got to be alive for the sake of Nottingham, until we can get word to King Richard. And who knows where to find King Richard? Robin Hood."

Guy suppresses a shudder. "You're not suggesting I ally myself to Hood, are you?"

"Why not? You're in the same boat, now."

"I can think of a million reasons why not," Guy answers flatly, but is unprepared to elaborate on any of them at that moment in time, not even with the wine going to his head.

At that moment Allan returns, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite having a rapidly blossoming black eye. Ignoring the incredulous stares of Guy and George, he slides himself into the seat next to Gisborne.

"Result!" he declares triumphantly as he slaps a heavy money bag down on the table.

Guy sighs in disapproval. "Dare I even ask how?"

"Old Tavern tricks, Gisborne," he answers opaquely, immediately jumping up again to order another round of drinks from a passing serving girl. As soon as he's back, he resumes his seat. "So, what's the plan?"

"If you had been here instead of fleecing the unsuspecting public you'd be a lot more informed."

"Oh, don't be like that, Guy."

"Is he always like this?" asks George, worriedly glancing from Allan to Guy and back again.

Guy opts not to answer that.

Outside, the night is closing in and his mind turns to Marian. He trusts she is safely in their designated Sanctuary, the one scouted out before they left the last safe house they stayed in; she had a head start, and it's not as if anyone else would have been on the roads at that hour of the morning. But still, he hankers after her, pines for her if he goes too long without seeing her. His only consolation is that they are less than two miles from the Franciscan's Monastic house. He will be back at her side within an hour of leaving, and with that in mind, he agrees to one more drink before they take to the road to find her.

"You're not missing her already, are you?" teases Allan, grinning widely, ready to launch himself well over that line in the sand.

"Careful now," Guy warns him, knocking back the remainder of what's in his goblet.

* * *

The grass tickles her face, teasing her out of the light sleep she had fallen into, sits up off the embankment with a loud groan. It had been dusk when she dozed off, she was sure of it. Now it is fully dark, and if Guy had returned, Marian knows he would have awoken her. How she had managed to fall asleep on the verge, she didn't know. But now she had, she was panicking. If Guy wasn't back by now, then he never would be.

Marian jumps down, back into the Monastery grounds and collars one of the young Novices on his way to Vespers.

"Has anyone else been here today?" she asks, gripping the back of his habit tight, as though she was about to punch him if he gave the wrong answer.

The boy trembles. "N-no, I swear," he splutters in response.

Anger and fear mingle in her, but she knows lashing out at a monk barely out of childhood isn't going to help her. She releases her grip and makes off towards the hut again. Earlier on, she had returned to the verge to continue her vigil as soon as her father had returned indoors and would not have to face any more of his questions. She tries the hut one more time, hoping that Guy entered unseen, and if he's not there, then she would go out and search for him herself.

"Guy?" she calls his name as if it will increase the odds of her finding him there.

The dwelling is empty. The fire burned to embers, highlighting the emptiness and giving the place a feeling of abandonment. Cursing lightly under her breath she throws a cloak over her shoulders and prepares to leave once more. Her fears lie like a lead weight in her stomach, now. It churns her up, her mind races ahead with the possibilities. He could be dead. He could have been dragged back to Nottingham while she was busy deluding herself that he would ride through those gates at any moment. She didn't know why she was crying, either, but she was. She swipes her sleeve over her cheeks, drying her face, before setting off towards the stables to fetch her horse.

As Guy instructed, the horses are saddled already, in case they should need to depart in a hurry. However, as she starts to lead her mount out into the Courtyard the beat of her horses hooves are joined by another, more distant. Marian listens, but she refuses to get her hopes up. Countless times she has heard an approaching rider, rushed to the gates, and come away more disappointed each time. It's not until the Gatekeeper comes rushing out with his lantern bobbing ahead of him that she looks up. In the flickering glow, she catches a brief sight of him, still at the gates, still on horseback.

"My companions have sought sanctuary here, and so do I," that familiar, resonant voice explains.

Marian's legs turn to water, she sinks to her knees in relief, her lips forming words to half remembered prayers of thanks she learned as a child. She crosses herself, takes deep steadying breaths before cautiously finding her feet again. When she does, she rushes over the uneven cobbles to greet him. She's only aware of her tears because they're so cold on her skin, but she's beyond caring.

"Guy!" she calls, her voice echoing in the quiet night air. "Let him in, he's with me!" she instructs the Monk on the gate.

As soon as he sees her, he dismounts in one smooth action, and lands in her open arms.

"I've been so worried," she sobs into his shoulder, grateful that her father is not around to see. She leans up to kiss his cheek, but then stops, drawing away so he's at arms length.

The grin on his face freezes at her sudden change of demeanour. "Marian," he says, "what's wrong? I've so much to tell you."

But all her emotions are merging into a cold fury as she smells the alcohol on him. "Have you been drinking?" she asks, her tone perfectly glacial. "You stink of it, Guy. You've been in some Tavern somewhere? I thought you'd been captured!"

As the excuses burst out him, her hours of road watching, floor pacing and feeling sick with worry rush through her mind. All the while, he's been down the Tavern. She can't believe the fool she has been, and she's so angry she only catches snippets of his babbling justifications.

"We had to plan!" he blurts out, seizing her by the shoulders. "Things have changed, you must listen-"

"No, Guy!" she retorts. "You listen, because you're not the one who's been worried sick these last twelve hours. You're not the one imagining your friends dead and disembowelled over the gates of Nottingham Castle. You're not the one who was about to risk their necks to go out searching in the dead of night. I. Was! I was a fool to think you cared. You are as selfish as ever you were, Guy of Gisborne, now just shut up. Stop talking."

He's panicking now, trying to calm her down and shushing her like a child. An act that pushes her anger at him beyond reason. "Get away from me, now!" she bellows at him, giving him a firm shove in the chest as she does so, before turning on her heels. Is she sees him again, she thinks she will strike him, so she marches back to her hut, and slams it shut. With the ledge down, she's sure he won't be able to get in and pester her. For all she cares, he can sleep off his session outside and have the Monks to answer to when morning comes.


	6. The Good Old Days

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it's much appreciated. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading, and if you have a minute to leave a review, it would be most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Good Old Days.**

Just like the good old days, Guy finds himself talking to the door. "Marian, please," he says, "just give me two minutes to explain and then I'll leave you alone. I promise."

Silence. Or near silence. A few moments ago he could hear Marian shuffling about on the other side of the door. For a moment, he thought that she was about to open up as the shuffling got closer. Then the footsteps receded, and there had been nothing from her since. He sighs deeply, slumps against the door and gives up.

"Fine, I'm leaving," he tells the door, hoping Marian can over hear at least. "But we're having a meeting in that barn in the field next to this place. Starts in an hour. Be there if you want a say in what happens next."

He waits for a minute, listening intently to see if the promise of being in the thick of the action lures her out, and fails. His last ray of hope sets to flight. Dejected and temperamental, he stalks away, setting a flock of chickens to flight in a flurry as he goes.

* * *

Making straight for their meeting place, Guy finds everyone else there waiting for him, ready to go. The barn is wide and spacious, with bales of straw doubling up as seats, Allan and George, the other four retainers, and Sir Edward are huddled in a clandestine group, muttering amongst themselves. They pause, startled by his intrusion, and all snap to attention, but settle back again when they see it's only Guy.

He spends a few moments looking at them, one to another, before taking his place on a stack of hay at Allan's side, carefully stepping around Sir Edward as he goes. As he passes, however, Edward looks up at him: "Is Marian not with you? She would not want to miss this."

Nor would she. "I told her we start in an hour," replies Guy with a non-committal shrug. "I say we give her that long, and if she isn't here by then we'll just have to start without her. Whoever owns this place will be wanting it back before the day draws late."

He tries to ignore the note of accusation in Sir Edward's tone, that 'you've-upset-her-again-haven't-you' look that's etched in the old man's face. To take his mind off it, he takes to pulling at the laces of his boot, tying and retying them and fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt in agitation while the others fall into idle chatter about the warming weather, the upcoming harvest and the latest batch of young blood sent to the Holy Lands for King Richard's Crusades. Even amongst all these distractions, however, he found himself jumping at small noises coming from outside; hoping that a second later, Marian would walk through that door.

The full hour had elapsed before she did. Pale and puffy-eyed, her skin waxen and drawn, she glanced askance about the room, evidently in some surprise. "Who're all these people?" she asks. "Aren't they the Sheriff's men?"

For a moment, her gaze meets Guy's. Followed by a moment of dawning comprehension as she realises what he was trying to tell her the night before, and what he'd spent most of the morning trying to explain, if only she had given him a minute of her time. None of the others know what happened, and even Sir Edward only suspected something was amiss, so carry on as if they're just new friends becoming happily acquainted for the first time. It is George who gets to his feet and offers her his hand.

"I am Sir Guy's man," he corrects her assumption, but with a gentile smile. "These are my men-" he pauses to point each one out to her, "-this is Bill, John, Harry and Fred. I understand we gave you quite a fright the other day when we tracked you down at that big, old house. For that we're very sorry, but we had no other way. But we got Sir Guy, out in the woods about four miles back, and I said to him, 'I swore my fealty to you Guy, not no Sheriff and it's you I serve, and you I fight for. Isn't that right, Sir Guy?"

Marian's jaw dropped open as she stood by George's side, looking down at where Guy was slouched between the hay stacks and the barn wall. He could see her through the tail of his eye, but could not bring himself to look at her fully, now. If she had spared him just a second of her time, he could have told her this. All she had cared about was delivering him a gift wrapped tongue lashing that saw them both sleepless and despairing all through the remainder of the night. Guy found that he had no desire to look at her, see that stifled apology in her eyes as she realised he had been right all along, again.

Eventually, Marian pulls herself together. But while she still looks at Guy, willing him to show some sign of recognition, she talks to George: "Pleased to meet you," she says, unenthusiastically. The formality of introductions done, she crosses to where the group is sitting, pauses to kiss her father's cheek, and makes a point of sitting beside Guy. Guy responds by getting to his feet and walking to the middle of the room under the pretence of getting the meeting going:

"Well, now we all know each other at last," he states to the room at large. "I suggest we outline to Sir Edward and Marian the plans we laid down yesterday, and get their ideas on how to build it up from there."

George leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. "Excellent idea," he states. "Well, my men here are only four in number – nowhere near enough to defeat the Sheriff-"

"Hang on," Marian interjects, "is this what we're doing now? Defeating the Sheriff?"

She automatically looks to Guy.

"I did try to tell you," he mutters, inspecting his fingernails rather than looking at her.

As though chastened, Marian blushes and lets George continue.

"Like I said, nowhere near enough to defeat the Sheriff. But there are others who would be willing to come over to our side. His own men are only loyal to him while they fear him. If we can show them that there is a viable alternative, one that stands a good chance of victory, they will change sides and fight for us."

"But that's good, isn't it?" Marian asks. "We just need to find a way of winning them over. The people would be with us, surely?"

For a moment, nobody says anything, but many are thinking the same thing. It is Sir Edward, getting to his feet and crossing the room so he's at Guy's side, who speaks aloud.

"We need to ally ourselves to Robin Hood," he says, feeling his way carefully with his words. "If there is some way we can set aside our unhappy past with Hood, we must do it. With him on board, every outlying village in Nottingham would follow him to our side, not just his little gang of outlaws. And Guy, you're intelligent enough to know I'm speaking the truth."

Guy keeps his eye on the ground at his feet, unconsciously chewing through the leather of his gloved hand. "No," he states flatly. "Absolutely not."

Marian jumps to her feet, next. She tries to place her hands on his arm, trying to get his attention but he shrugs her off as though she has burned him with her touch.

"Please, Guy, this is our best hope."

Every pair of eyes in the room is boring into him, pressuring him into capitulation. They may as well my slowly tightening the thumbscrews, or gradually turning the rack – torturing him into giving way. He knows they're right, but he cannot, will not, bring himself to admit it. He puts his own mind through mental gymnastics as he tries to come up with any other way of gaining the upper hand, anything that does not involve Hood and his men. He goes to argue, to stamp his feet, but instead, flees the barn with the weight of expectation pushing him as he goes.

* * *

Allan curses as the door slams behind Guy.

"Wait here," he tells the others, springing to his feet. "I'll go after him and talk him down."

With that, he too leaves the barn.

"Meeting adjourned, I think," mutters George. "Look, we're forbidden entry to the Monastery, we're men-at-arms. But we're camped out in that woodland behind the Priory. By a stream that supplies the Monks cattle. You can find us there any time you want us."

Then it was their time to leave. Marian and Sir Edward were alone in the barn, looking about the empty space and feeling hopeless. Marian goes to say something to her father, a confession of the events of the night before, as she feels compelled to explain Guy's behaviour. But she sees her father deep in thought. He is not looking at her, and begins to pace in a small circle. Round and round, chewing it the tip of his index finger as he mulls over some deep, internal, conflict.

"Father," she softly says, seeing if she can get a reaction out him, so deep in thought is he.

He stops, looks at her as though he's only just become aware of her still being present in the room.

"I have an idea," he says, "and I am going to need your help."

Curious, Marian begins following him in his pacing. "Do you know how to raise an army? Do you think people who remember you as Sheriff will rally to your call?" she asks, earnestly.

But Sir Edward laughs. "Oh no, dear," he replies. "They will be much too old for fighting now. But I think I know a way to get Robin and Guy … if not exactly talking to each other … then perhaps realising they have a lot more in common than they think they do, and that they always have had."

Marian frowns, looking at her father as though he has lost his wits. Nevertheless, she affords him the benefit of doubt. "How so?" she asks.

"There might be someone who can help," he replies, cagily. "The thing is, I have only heard rumours that he is still alive. I just don't know. I will need to go away for a while-"

"That's impossible, you cannot," she cuts over him worriedly.

Sir Edward raises a hand to pacify her. "No, listen, I will take two of George's men with me when I go, if he can spare them. If he cannot, then I will stay, I assure you. But the risk will be worth it if my plan works."

The questions are tripping over themselves as she tries to speak, however. "But, who? How? This makes no sense and you're being deliberately opaque, father!"

He gently pats her arm, like she's a favoured pet getting too excited for her own good. "Like I said, this is a long shot. But when we first arrived in Locksley, when your mother was still alive, you were just a little girl and probably cannot remember a thing. It was before I was even Sheriff..." his words trailed off and he gave a shake of his head. "Something happened, and someone we thought was..." he breaks off, becoming more agitated as he does so. "It's just a rumour, but it's all we have. I think I know someone who might know something."

Marian is becoming worried; deeply worried. "Father, if it upsets you, you do not have to explain to me. I will trust you're doing the right thing by us all. But let me come with you, too?"

"No," replies Edward adamantly. "I need you to do something else. I have given myself two weeks to find what I am looking for. When – if – I have found what I am looking for, I will send one of my guards back to you with a message to go and fetch Robin and bring him here immediately. Keep him out of Guy's sigh; we cannot afford any, er, unpleasantness, before my return. Do you understand?"

Inside, she screams to protest and dig in her heels until he has told her everything. But she senses something shifting deep in a shared past she knows nothing about; something much bigger at play, and underneath it all, she knows her limits. Slowly, she nods affirmatively. Sir Edward smiles, plants a firm kiss on her forehead. "I am proud of you, my love," he says, "make me prouder still by finding Guy and telling him you're sorry for being so mean last night-"

"He told you!"

"No, I heard you shrieking at him," Sir Edward explains reprovingly. "He didn't know if he could trust those men, so that's why he brought them to the tavern and not straight here. It would have been foolish to do otherwise, and you didn't let him explain."

She looks guilty. "I was going to, anyway. I just wanted him to calm down first," she admitted, slumping her shoulders.

Sir Edward wraps her in a warm embrace. "I know you were; I just wanted to make sure. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself for loving two men equally for very unequal reasons-"

Marian pulls back sharply. "I don't-" she began to protest, a little too much.

"Shh," he soothes. "I am your father. I know you more than you know yourself, and I can admit the things about you that you're too afraid to admit."

Before she can say any more, he heads for the door. But she calls him back, and when he turns to face her one last time, she just says: "Be careful, father." He nods, takes her in one last time, and departs.

* * *

Extricating himself from Allan A Dale, Guy feels the overwhelming need to escape the ever closing walls of the Monastery. He cannot stand the place; feels like he's hiding behind God's skirts when he should be doing something practical; something to get them all out of the game of cat and mouse he has plunged them into. He leaves via a back gate, and sets off towards George's small camp in the woods, but then has a change of heart.

A sudden urge to be alone sees him veering off the path and towards the river that runs through the Monastery lands, supplying them with water for cleaning and cooking, and for their livestock. Deprived of sleep, he is tired, temperamental and in danger of losing his wits. The weather is hot, his abdomen aches like hell where he was stabbed, and he stinks from days on the road. Then, thrown into that heady mix is Marian. Marian angry, Marian refusing to listen, Marian tearing out his heart and feeding it back to him on a garnished plate of gold. She keeps him guessing, she keeps him wrong-footed and eternally teased. It's like dancing on broken glass, and sometimes the jagged edges aren't worth the pain.

He reaches a clearing in a deep ravine. The crystal waters of the river bubble over mossy rocks, spilling into tidal pools beneath a rich canopy of trees in full blossom high over head. Further up river, the salmon leap and the trout break the surface of the water, leaving nothing but the silver flash of their lithe bodies as they dart back beneath the hidden depths of their watery underworld. Guy lets the sound of the rushing waters soothe away his troubles, even if it's just for a few stolen hours. Alone, he can pretend everything is normal again.

He sits on the riverbank, and glances around. Not a soul is in sight, not a sound can be heard, not even animal. First, he pulls off his heavy riding boots. Then his socks, and breeches. Only his shirt remains, which he pulls over his head, tousling his hair so looks like he's been dragged through a hedge, backwards. He feels exposed in more ways than one, and quickly steps into the cool waters.

It's freezing, and he clenches his jaw to stop his teeth chattering. As he takes the plunge into the deeper middle of the river, however, he quickly adjusts to the temperature. Now, the water is cool on his skin, reinvigorating as he swims out and lets himself dive beneath the surface to see where the fish live.

He emerges only a minute later, gasping for breath in the absence of gills, and lazily drops into a backstroke to let the river wash him downstream for a moment. But then he sees her. She has a basket of washing balanced on her hip; both of her two gowns that she was able to bring by the looks of it, because she's dressed only in a white chemise. Marian. She sees him looking, just as he saw her looking, and both turn suddenly away. He is completely naked, and she is as good as naked, her outline perfectly visible through the fine muslin chemise she wears. When he stands, he is careful to check he is no lower than waist deep.

"I – I'm sorry," she stammers, looking away. "I didn't know you were here."

He can't think what to say; they've seen each other now, and he's rather trapped. Unable to move until she does, he remains where he is. He watches as she digs in the laundry and pulls out a woollen blanket. She walks backwards and crablike, with over caution, and places the blanket down on the riverbank.

"I have no towel," she explains, still with her back to him, "but you can use that. I won't look, I promise."

"Er, thank you," he replies, wading ashore and quickly wrapping the blanket around his middle, careful to tuck the corners in tight. "I didn't think anyone would be down here."

"Me neither," she replies, a little too briskly. She turns to look at him, her eyes lingering over his bare chest. She swallows hard, like some inner turmoil is being played out in her head. "Well, I'll just go up here," she adds, pointing in the vague direction of the trees. "I'll do the washing there."

That will be hard, in the middle of the woods where there is no water. But Guy doesn't point that out, seeing as he's still as good as naked.

"Well, I'll just be getting on then," he replies brightly. "Er, I'll see you later, will I?"

"Yes, later."

He scrabbles about on the ground for his clothes, bundles them into his arms and strides off as best he can. But before he gets too far away, Marian calls him back.

"Guy," she calls, "I want to say I'm sorry. And that I really will see you later."

He gives a nod of his head. "Of course," he says. "You know where I will be."

They go their separate ways: her with the laundry balanced on her hip, him still wrapped in the blanket until he can find somewhere suitable to dress again. Neither of them see the other doing it, but as they go, they each look back at one another. It's almost as if they cared.


	7. The Sea Change

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story: it means a lot to me. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading this, and reviews would be greatly appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Sea Change.**

They avoided each other's gaze when they met the next morning. Marian was hanging up her washed clothes to dry; Guy was grooming the horses. At first, they exchanged only a curt nod and a muttered "good morning". They knew they wouldn't be able to avoid each other forever, though. So Marian decided to be the mature one, and approached him as soon as her last skirt was safely secured on the make shift line she'd erected between her dwelling and his.

It was Guy who struck up conversation, though. "George tells me your father has taken off with two guards?"

Marian nodded. "I don't know where," she said, "he wouldn't even tell me. He will be back in two weeks, at most."

It was stiff and perfunctory; like a whole new barrier had been erected between them since the last one came down.

"I see."

Silence. Marian shuffled her feet, Guy had groomed the same part of his horses mane no less than six times, now. He paused to roll up his sleeves, looking about for some inoffensive object to remark upon. "The chickens are looking good today," he finally observed, realising full well how desperate a subject it was.

Marian turned, as though she was about to walk away, but then stopped, looking down at the ground, her lids lowered and lips parted, words forming, sitting on the tip of her tongue. Guy had one eye on her, the other on the horse, still grooming the exact same handful of mane.

"Will you stop that," Marian eventually said. "He'll have no hair left at this rate."

He did as she said, unaware that he'd been so distracted. "I'm sorry-"

"And don't apologise, either," she cut across him.

It had been a while since Guy had given up second guessing Marian's moods, but this was a strange one even by her standards. He only ever wishes he had the words to hand, to say something that would make her better; to convey how he really feels about her. But then she turned to face him again, her hands folded behind her back, turned her eyes up to look at him directly, her expression softening, almost tearful.

"Don't you apologise, when I should apologise to you," she blurts out.

"Marian, you don't have to-"

"Yes, I do, Guy!" she cuts across him again, raising the palm of her hand to emphasise her point. "I was wrong not to listen to you when you came back from the Tavern; I was wrong to ignore you when all you wanted was to explain yourself, and I was wrong to shut you out like that. I am sorry."

His body absorbs the impact of her words and knocks the air from his lungs in the process. He wonders if he's imagining things, but she's looking at him now with wide eyes, an earnest expression on her face, waiting for him to react. He doesn't know what his own expression is doing, but judging by hers she's already regretting being so open, laying herself so bare in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he stammers, turning his back on the horse he steps closer to her. "But it's forgotten already-"

She's determined not to let him speak, just for different reasons, this time. "It shouldn't be," she said. "I hurt you, and the thought of me hurting you..."

She trips over her own words and then seems to forget what she was going to say anyway. Instead, she leans forward in what she wanted to be one graceful stride to kiss him, but the hems of her skirts get under her feet and send her stumbling almost to ground. But Guy is quick off the mark, and catches her fall with ease.

"Careful," he warns, a smile spreading gradually over his face. "You'll scare the chickens."

"I don't care," she replies, her voice almost a whisper, "kiss me."

A few days ago he would have complied and kissed her like there was no tomorrow. But now she's asking for it, and he doesn't want to take advantage, he doesn't want to risk another great sea change in her mood and send her into a fury if he's misread this sign. So, he tightens his grip on her, and leans down to brush the chastest of kisses against her cheek. She sees what he is doing, twists her head and makes sure the kiss is full on the lips. Guy is powerless to resist her, and the kiss lingers while he steadies her, eyes closed, gentle. It's a difficult multi-tasking job, but once he is assured of her balance, he lets go so they can embrace properly. They wrap their arms around one another, melting into each other as each probe deep with their tongues; gently and more gently, they each savour this moment.

But like all moments, theirs is gone too soon.

"Sinners!"

The Prior's voice booms across the Courtyard and Guy almost drops Marian in alarm. She pulls herself upright with a start, as if a spell has been lifted from both of them. Guy blinks in confusion; Marian's mouth is a perfect 'O' in shock as the livid faced Prior comes striding towards them in a haze of fury.

"Wanton lust in a house of God shall not go unpunished!" the man bellows.

Unable to help himself, Guy laughs. He tries to stifle it, lifts his gloved hand to his mouth to try and physically block it. The more he tries, the harder his laughter comes. For a moment, Marian looks at him as if he's sprouted an extra head, but soon she too is giggling at the look on the Prior's face. Soon, she is leaning on his shoulder, gripped by helpless fits of giggles. The Prior stops just short of the pair of them, looking in horror as the wrath of God fills him with a righteous fury. So furious, he can only splutter incomprehensibly at them.

Guy composes himself as quickly as he can. "Father, I confess," he declares, holding up a pacifying hand. A gesture that seems only to succeed in bringing another fit of giggles in Marian. "I confess before God that I do love this woman, and I fear there is not much he, or you, can do about it-"

Marian straightens herself up, trying to look penitent. But they're both watching as the Prior's face turns from a livid red to a pale shade of purple; a barometer of anger. He's clutching the large gold crucifix that hangs around his neck so hard his knuckles whiten, and Guy is waiting for the blood to begin oozing from between his chubby fingers at any minute. He misses the moment when the man finally finds his wits again.

"Fornication in the house of God-"

"It was hardly that, Father," Marian retorts, scandalised.

The Prior jabs a finger in Marian's direction. "If you do not bridle your whore-"

"Whore!" Guy repeats, askance. "And I'd like to see you try to, ah, what was it? Bridle her."

The Prior's tone is dangerously low. "I command you both to leave this place, immediately and to never darken our doors again!"

Guy snorts with laughter again. "Gladly."

Life in a Monastery was never going to be comfortable for Guy, and their expulsion is a relief more than anything. He is sorry for Marian, though. But, the speed with which she packs up her belongings, tears her clothes down from the line and even makes a start on his things, suggests she is somewhat glad to be out of there herself. Guy helps her, and together they saddle the horses under the mutinous glare of the Prior. He even follows them to the gate, making sure it is securely locked behind them once they're out of the Courtyard.

"Well, there goes Sanctuary," says Marian from atop her horse, glancing over her shoulder as it recedes into the distance.

"We'll set up with George in the forest," replies Guy, "we'll be all right there until your father returns."

It isn't perfect, but it's safe enough. They set up camp well away from even the smallest of pathways, and certainly set back from any road. The forest provides them with the cover they need, and in more ways than one, it was preferable to relying on safe houses and sanctuaries, where they could be sold out by any person at any moment.

* * *

The sea change has taken her by surprise. Marian is sitting beneath the boughs of a broad oak tree as the sun sets on her first day in the wild, watching as Guy trains with the swordsmen. Even now she attempts to feign indifference, but he's just pulled off his shirt and she cannot stop looking. He always did thrill her, and she thinks she can admit that, now. Now she no longer has Robin pulling her in one direction, and Guy in another, like a game of tug-o-war. Now she is no longer a prize, but free to follow her heart.

She watches as Guy splashes water over his face, quite oblivious to her watching him, even though he has put his sword away and the practise fight is over. He, too, has been through a great sea change, now that he has removed himself from the malignity of the Sheriff. She had never appreciated it before, but he too had been a prize. The game was fought between her, and the Sheriff, and Guy in the middle pulled this way and that. Now, they are both free, neither no longer trying to please all of the people all of the time. But still she could not have predicted what had occurred earlier that day. Nor could she deny that she had wanted it to happen.

"Guy!" she calls out to him before he can walk away, and jumps to her feet, waving.

He stops in his tracks, and whirls round to face her, that lopsided smile bright on his face.

"Marian," he calls back, one hand raised as though in a gesture of farewell.

He's still topless, and if she didn't know him any better she'd swear he was doing it deliberately. She doesn't even know why she called him over; other than that she did not want him to pass her by unacknowledged. If he wants her to look, then she wants him to see her looking.

"Did you win?" she asks, breathless even though she has barely moved for the last hour.

His smile widens. "I think I've won," he answers obliquely. "But not the fight."

She thinks she understands. "What happened, earlier today," she begins, closing the small gap between them. "Let's not read too much into it. Let's just concentrate on what we need to do. We cannot afford distractions, and-"

He presses a finger to her lips, shushing her gently. "I know," he replied. "I understand, and I promise I will do whatever it takes you get back our birthrights, or die trying. I got us into this, and I'll get us out of it."

You can't say fairer than that. "I want to help," she says, letting her gaze drop to his chest again, but he pulls his shirt back over his head, and shutters her view.

For a moment, silence falls between them as he smooths out the wrinkles in his cotton shirt. It is a silence that comes with dusk, like a shroud over a corpse, it stifles and soothes at the same time. She goes to tell him that her father has ordered her to fetch Robin Hood, that she needs to see him one more time. But the words stick in her throat; he wouldn't understand or he would try to prevent her from going. If their plan is to work, if they are to achieve their ends, she knows she must lie one more time.

Marian bids him goodnight, gives him one final smile before turning back towards her shelter in the woods.


	8. Heart to Bleeding Heart

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the sheer length of time since my last update to this fic, but I hit a bit of a block with this one (but it's not abandoned!). Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. I own nothing, and reviews would be most welcome. Thanks again.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Heart to Bleeding Heart**

So much time had passed since Sir Edward's abrupt departure that Marian almost allowed herself to forget his request of her. That he would never send a messenger bidding her to return to the Outlaw's camp at Sherwood and she could remain there, with Guy, until her father returned from his mysterious mission. However, the knowledge would creep up on her unbidden and unwelcome when she least expected it. It was round every corner, lurking behind the trees or staring up at her from the depths of the river where she washed and drew water for the cooking. She could run from it, but she could not hide. Nor could she ignore the fact that there was a space in her heart that was secretly exhilarated at the thought of seeing Robin again. Then, three days before her father was due to return, the messenger she equally dreaded and desired came crashing through the trees early one morning.

Breathless and dishevelled from a long and arduous journey, he dismounted as soon as he saw her. She was squatting at the river's edge, washing her kirtle and chemise in the clear waters. He didn't even wait until the horse had stopped before he dismounted to impart his message.

"Lady Marian," he addressed her, ducking a clumsy bow, "a message from your father."

Silently, Marian straightened herself up, wiping her wet hands down the front of her gown, she took the folded note from him. There was no seal, of course, but her father's handwriting was unmistakable to her.

"I thank you for your efforts," she said to the guard who'd delivered the message. "Please, you and your fellow Officer must rest overnight before we leave." She didn't have to read the note before knowing what it contained.

The Guard smiled, evidently relieved. "Thanks, my lady."

She managed to smile back, waiting until he had gone again before reading the note.

"_My Dearest Marian,"_ it read. _"I have found what I was looking for and will return to the Monastery three days hence. You must leave for Sherwood as soon as you can and convince Robin to come back with you. I cannot stress how important this is, your future – all our futures – depend upon it. Meet us in the Monastery barn where my guest will be awaiting your return. Make sure Guy is watched at all times; he must not be allowed to leave and he must not be told anything."_

Once she had finished, Marian folded the note away and tucked it down the front of her bodice. Lying to Guy was nothing new to her, she had done it countless times. As she gathered up her laundry, she tried to reason to herself. The Night Watchman; all her little jaunts into the forest; her intention to marry him when her heart yearned for another man. Theirs had always been a relationship built on a foundation of lies – at least on her part. On his, his heart had always been an open book, left for any old clerk to peruse at leisure. It was his Achilles Heel; she had exploited it herself, just as the Sheriff had. Love was the cruellest knife to twist in anyone and she felt as though she had handed that weapon out herself.

But, was it even a lie? Heading back to the camp, Marian tossed the coin in her head, reading the flip side of her argument. She wasn't telling Guy where she was going, so she was just withholding the truth, rather than telling an outright lie. It was a moral compromise she was unused to making, but as needs must if the Devil's driving. And with Sheriff Vaisey at the helm, the devil was most definitely steering their apple cart.

* * *

The grind of the blade against the whet stone set Guy's teeth on edge. In the past, he always had servants to do this kind of thing and now he knew why. The wheel turned, forging the blade to a point of deadliness and sending sparks shooting upwards in a haze of smoke. All the time, that grating scrape that ground on his nerves. He sought any excuse to stop and within twenty minutes, the perfect reason stepped back into the camp's enclosure with a Moses basket filled with dripping clothes balanced on her hip.

"Marian," he called over to her, letting the sword fall at his side as he rose from his place.

Marian glanced all about her as she pegged out her clothes, unsure of the direction of his voice. Then, as her gaze finally fell on him approaching her, her expression lightened into a bright smile.

"Sir Guy," she greeted him back and hurried with the pegging. "Give me a minute."

He waits patiently, using the momentary pause in proceedings to take in her full appearance. Her slim build, the curve of her hips and the way she stretches herself out, reaching for the clothes line. It strikes him that, these days, she always seems to be washing. It also strikes him that, when she turns back, her countenance has completely changed. Her expression had darkened into a grave frown, deeply seriously as she walks over to him.

When the space between them is closed, she takes his hand in her own. "I was about to come and find you."

Her actively seeking him. It was always little signs of affection like this that made him hope. "Really?" he asked, surprised.

A brief smile from her. "Yes. Now, let's walk."

Ignoring the suggestive looks of the others, Guy led her back the way she had just come. Back into the forest that surrounded the camp. It was a hot day and the canopy of the forest threw that heat into pleasant relief without making it cold. Besides, since she had kissed him, he found himself more inclined to the pleasanter things in life. He almost wished they could stay like this forever, on the run with each other. But nothing in life was ever that simple and, he was painfully aware, he had barely set foot on his road to redemption for all that he had done.

They reached the brook where only a few days past Marian had walked in on his naked bathing, but neither of them mentioned the incident. Instead, Marian turned to him and looked him square in the eye.

"Do you trust me?" she asked, not allowing her gaze to waver.

Guy hesitated. Not out of distrust, but because he was wondering where this was going. Insecurities rose like demons at the back of his mind. Nonetheless, he nodded. "Of course I do," he replied at length and far from certain. "Do you trust me?" he asked, with a shrug.

"I do now," she answered without hesitation. "Now that you're away from the Sheriff."

That, at least, was comforting to him. Before their discussion continued, he led her over to the riverbank, where they sat on the stony jetty that led to the water. The forest was silent but for the distant rush of the waterfall that fed into the river. Marian watched the water as though hypnotised.

"You committed treason for the Sheriff," she said. "That's what Robin said: that you betrayed England."

Guy snorted in derision. "Really," he retorted dismissively. However, when he saw the look on her face, he continued: "Hood, of all people, should know that betraying one person doesn't exactly equate to betraying the entire nation-"

"But he's the King, Guy," Marian interjected, her eyes blazing as she turned to look at him.

He met her gaze with shock. It was like she was fishing for reasons to be angry with him, or worse, hate him all over again. But on this point, he knew he could not back down.

He almost laughed. "These taxes Hood's so opposed to," he said, "who does he think raises them? The King does, because Crusades don't fund themselves. Why are we fighting the Crusade? Because the Pope in Rome tells us it is our Christian duty. So all these poor, downtrodden peasants Hood claims to love are having their backs broken to fund a war fought by a King who's only visited this country once; a war ordered by the most powerful man in the whole of Europe who doesn't even know they exist. To cap all that, it is people like me who get the blame and take the consequences of their decisions. Tell me, is it any wonder I have little love for our most entirely beloved Majesty? Perhaps I care more for the running of the country than he does? Perhaps I object to the fact that King Richard's one visit to England – his Coronation I might add, so it's not like he had any choice but to be here – ended with swathes of innocent people being massacred? Does Hood cry himself to sleep at nights over that? Or do Jews not count?"

Guy remembered it well: the massacre of the Jews of York and London precipitated England's entrance into the Crusades all over again. Back breaking wars fought in distant nations that cost the earth and brought little of real value to the country, just prestige. What good was prestige if your people were starving? Prestige and Papal blessings won't feed your children. Now that he'd vented, Marian looked positively abashed.

"But it's still treason-"

"You keep telling me that," he cut across her. "But sometimes, you really have to do what's right-"

"Don't tell me that's right," retorted Marian, cutting over Guy herself. "What the Sheriff was doing was wrong. Just as wrong as anything the King has done. If you really feel this way, then why didn't you do something about it? You just rolled over and joined in the oppression and there's no excuse for that!"

Then, it was Guy's turn to be abashed. "What can you do when you have an absentee King who sees England as an endless source of revenue to fund his little jaunts abroad and an evil Sheriff who sees the only the endless possibilities of his own self-advancement? I'm not a fool; I know that if my head were to buy the Sheriff a castle in York, he would have cut it off in a trice. But at least, with him, I knew where I stood."

"That is no standing at all, Guy," she remonstrated, eyes shining with moisture. "Not only do you give in, you place no worth on yourself. How could you have done it? How could you have done all those things, those wicked things you did, for a man like that? And when, all along, you felt the way you do? In your heart, you knew of the great wrongs, but you just gave in and did it all anyway."

Guy looked up at her she rose to her feet, barely able to believe that they were arguing again, already. "Isn't that what I'm doing now?" he asked, eyebrow arched. "I'm making my grand last stand, all for you."

He got up to face her, but suddenly her expression softened.

"Don't say it's the last," she whispered, visibly deflating as the anger drained from her.

She reached out and took his hands in her own, again. "It doesn't have to be this way, but I need you to trust me," she added.

He could feel himself being led down the garden path again. "Marian, where is this leading?"

She hesitated for a moment, he could see she was selecting her words carefully. "I need to leave for a few days," she said, "with some guards for protection, I won't be alone. My father has asked this of me-"

"Well, that's all right," he said, laughing with relief. "I'll come with you-"

"No!" she cut him off quickly, and the smile on his face died. "You cannot. You must stay here. I have to do this alone."

Guy pulled away from her as though she'd burned him. "You're going back to Hood, aren't you."

The colour stole into her face, betraying her completely. "Please, Guy," she insisted, desperation in her eyes. "This is important, you have got to trust me."

He wanted to walk away, but his feet wouldn't carry him. Instead, he stumbled backwards and had to grab a tree trunk to steady himself again. With his heart aching and his stomach churning horribly, he tried to straighten out his own swirling thoughts. If he tried to stop her, she'd only be more determined to go. But reasoning with himself had seldom worked in the past.

"Guy," she said, beseeching him now. "I trust you, and I trust you enough to tell you this: my father wants me to bring Robin Hood here. He will only come with me. If you come too, he'll never help us. Surely you see that? He wanted me to lie to you, but I cannot."

Guy shrugged her off and went back down to the water's edge to clear his head. Just a few moments without her pleading with him. Marian, however, was impatient.

"Read this," she said, handing him a note in Sir Edward's hand.

He took it from her, reading in silence. It was all very cryptic, obviously there was a greater plan being played out. However, he still didn't like it. It was dangerous, it involved putting Marian back in the path of Robin Hood. He would be sick with fear and envy until the moment she returned … if she returned. That was the thorn in his bleeding heart, now.

"You will come back, won't you?" he asked, turning slightly so that he could see her from the tail of his eye.

Her hands came to rest on his hips and she gently turned him around to face her again. "I promise you, I will come back. As soon as I can, I will not rest until I am back."

He had to fight against his own fears and insecurities; his own better judgement, to be able to nod his head. When he did, however, something in Marian changed. Her smile was more natural, her embrace that little bit warmer as she wrapped her arms around his middle. "Thank you," she whispered into his chest.

* * *

They left at dawn, just as the first rays of sun began to grace the forest with its presence. Marian, her two guards, and Guy – who had insisted on riding with them out to the perimeter of the forest. Once there, they had only a small amount of time for talk.

"Stay off the main roads," he advised her, needlessly.

"Keep a watch out for my father," she replied. "He thinks we're still at the Monastery."

Guy hadn't considered that. They had been expelled following a rather public display of Marian's new found affection for him. "Er.." he said, "how shall I explain that to him?"

Marian grinned. "Tell father he has a wanton woman for a daughter and that he ought to be ashamed of raising such a harlot as I."

Guy shrugged. "Sounds about right."

Marian aimed a playful swat at him, but missed, making them both laugh. But soon, the moment of separation came. They both glanced awkwardly about themselves, the guards retreating to the sidelines to give them privacy.

"Well then," said Guy. "Better take care of yourself."

Marian nodded. "You, too. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

They both turned their horses around and went their separate ways. At least, for the time being.


	9. The Best of Enemies

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it really means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply – I own none of this and it's not for profit. Thank you again for reading; and reviews would be greatly appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Best of Enemies**

As Sherwood Forest closes in around her, Marian has to admit to herself that it feels like coming home after a long journey abroad. The sounds are so familiar – the birds flapping from tree to tree, the animals darting through the gorse and brambles that spread across the beaten earth tracks. The smell of wild garlic heavy on the air, mingling with the forest flowers and the damp, dewy earth. The scent rising with the sun, moisture exhaled with the first, early morning, breaths of sunlight through the canopy of leaves. It is like being back in old dream and it is impossible to feel endangered here.

More keenly aware of the lurking dangers, her guards are keen to maintain a gallop as they pass through the dense woods. On more than one occasion during their journey they have already had to duck into verges and conceal themselves in the undergrowth as the Sheriff's men canter past, looking for them. Reminded of the imminent dangers, the dream becomes a nightmare once again.

"This is an ambush!"

They materialise seemingly from thin air; as if the forest has suddenly taken on human form. Their abrupt appearance startles the horses and Marian has to struggle with the reins to bring her mount back under control before it bolts. As she struggles, the wood nymph Outlaws continue their little spiel.

"Here's how it works," one declares.

"We take one tenth," another chimes in.

"Resist, and-"

"Oh, shut up!" Marian snaps, cutting across the speaker with ease. "It's me, Marian. Now where's Robin?"

A tense silence follows, during which hoods are lowered to reveal Robin, Much and Will Scarlet. The others, presumably, still hiding, acting as back up should their morning raids backfire. Each three has the decency to blush, dragging their feet like children caught out by an angry, disapproving parent.

"Well, if I'd known it was you…" Much launches into a hasty explanation, but the words break at a withering glare from Will.

Robin is the first to recover his wits, however. He strides forwards, slinging his longbow back over his shoulder and closing the gap between them. He takes her horse by the bridle; looks up at her earnestly. "I've been worried sick about you!" he hisses, sotto voce.

"You needn't have been," she replies tautly as she slips down from the saddle with one graceful slip.

For a long moment, they both hold each other's gaze as though seeking silent reassurance of their own well-being. "Has the Sherriff been on to you?" she finally asks.

The corner of his lip curls arrogantly. "Isn't he always?"

She stifles a laugh. "Fair point," she concedes.

"Who're all these?" he asks, jerking his head towards her guards. "Gisborne's men, by the looks of their livery?"

Her moment has come. There's no more time to waste in idle chatter, and she doesn't want to end up being dragged back to the Outlaw's camp, either. Once there, she'll end up stuck there for hours. This is going to be hard enough as it is, especially with the others still lurking in the side-lines.

"Look, Robin, we need your help," she replies, ignoring his question.

"We?" he rejoins, eyebrow cocked. "You mean, Gisborne and You?"

She sighs impatiently and he throws up his hands in a gesture of defeat. A signal that she can continue without interruption.

"My father has someone he wishes you to meet," she explains after a brief pause. "Don't ask who, I don't know. Come with me; help us."

Robin looks back over his shoulder, back towards the spot where his gang are melting back into the surrounding woodlands. She can tell he's intrigued, his expression is clouded over as his mind is racing. He's always been an open book to her. When he looks back at her, he is frowning. Not a promising sign.

"Is Gisborne going to be there?"

She wants to kick him.

"He saved my father, Robin-"

"That's not what I asked," he cuts her off firmly.

She grinds the heel of her riding boot into the ground to stop herself from kicking him.

"Yes," she murmurs, almost inaudibly, "but listen-"

He turns his back on her. "The answer's no."

A familiar heat flares in her belly as she reaches out and grabs his shoulder, forcibly turning him back around to face her.

"You listen to me, Robin Hood," she hisses, dangerously. "If you're serious about defeating the Sherriff, you'll come with me. Sometimes, with you, I think you only do this to play out a blood feud; a game of one –up-man-ship between you, Vasey and Guy, while everyone else is just the means to your end. Tell me, Robin, do you really care about the poor, or are you just doing this to spite your enemies and make a martyr of yourself?"

His expression freezes at her staunch rebuke, tries to retreat a few paces but her horse is blocking his path. "Of course I care about the poor, they are my people!" he retorts, aghast. "You've been with Guy all this time and you've let him get under your skin, the same way you always do. He's turning you against me-"

"He's barely mentioned you!" she re-joins angrily, her voice rising with the flush of her cheek. "His world doesn't revolve around you, believe it or not-"

"And now you're defending him-"

"Oh, stop this! You know me better than that, Robin. I only defend where I see it necessary. If he's so far under my skin, then why don't you come along with me and pull him out again?"

She is challenging him, now. Throwing down a gauntlet, she knows he will not be able to resist picking up. However, he is not coming quietly.

"Fine!" he states waspishly, leaning down to pick up a quiver of arrows from where they had fallen by his ankle. "But, the gang are coming with me. They can set up nearby; I'm going nowhere near Gisborne without them."

There is no more time to argue, so she makes no effort to talk him out of it. He has agreed to the meeting, and that is all she really cares for. She has forgotten how pig-headed he can be. Wasting no more time, she mounts her horse again, waiting impatiently for him to rally his troops. However, as she watches him storm about the forest, she feels the hope drain from her heart. As things stand, she cannot imagine any way in which Robin will ever agree to work with Guy. Nor can she imagine Guy setting his own differences aside. If it had only been one unwilling to work with the other, there could have been a chance. But, she had to reconcile both men. Two men as obstinate and curmudgeonly as each other.

"They're as bad as two squabbling brothers," she mutters mutinously to her horse as she prepares to lead the way back to her own camp. "The best of enemies for all eternity."

* * *

In the absence of both Marian and her father, along with most of the guards, Guy's camp is a haven of peace and solitude. His own retainers are caring for the horses and keeping their harness, and there's only so much training he can do in a day to take his mind off things. So, to prevent himself from becoming anxious, he takes to outlining Nottingham Castle on a sheet of parchment purloined from the nearby monastery. He labels each floor plan, marking out each room. He sketches in the walls, along with their blind spots and weak spots. Every secret tunnel finds its way from his memory and onto the virgin parchment in front of him. A task complicated by the uneven ground he's working on inside a hastily erected tent.

The entrance to the tent is thrown open – nothing more than a flap of fabric hoisted over the crossbeam to tempt in the summer breeze. He's moving on from the caste to sketch in the outlying villages when the shadow falls across the surface of his parchment, blocking the sunlight. He stops, reaches for the dagger hidden in his belt and grips the handle as he slowly turns his gaze upwards, hardly daring to draw a breath.

The wild haired woman stands with hands firmly placed on broad hips.

"So, you finally double crossed that addle-witted fox turd, did you?" she asks with a snort of genuine laughter, but it's more of an observation than a question.

Guy rolls his eyes, withdrawing his hand from the hilt of his dagger, praying she hadn't seen him go for it in the first place. "Matilda," he greets her with a sigh. "A charmed pleasure to make your acquaintance again, as always."

Is this Sir Edward's mystery guest? He prays it isn't so, but he's more than a little intrigued as to how she's found her way there and why. She steps inside uninvited, ducking under the low doorway of the tent and flops down in front of him. With her knees drawn to her chest, she fixes him with a shrewd look in her eye, as though she is trying to see beneath his layers of fabric and flesh, to the core of his soul. He's starting to form the impression that she rather enjoys unnerving him. However, when she speaks again, she is almost civil, but still highly amused by the turn of events in his life.

"I never thought I'd see the day when the lapdog turned vicious," she adds, almost as if he hadn't spoken to her at all. "Not in my lifetime, at any rate."

Guy gets up off his stomach and sits properly. "You knew it would happen, then?" He asks, more to make polite conversation more than anything.

She laughs, rolls her eyes. "Like the rest of your lot, I brought you into this world," she says, almost wistfully. "I might have guessed you weren't entirely bad. Not with who you had for a mother and father."

Just like that, Guy feels the shutters in his mind come crashing down. He reaches for his drawings, scooping them up off the ground and making to leave.

"Excuse me, I'm busy-"

Matilda is having none of it, though. "Just you get and sit back down there," she commands, her voice filling the tent like an army general's.

He halts mid-motion and sighs in resignation. "Has Sir Edward brought you back here just to remind me that I was young once and that's why I should sell my soul to a bunch of Outlaws-"

"Sir Edward hasn't brought me here at all," she cuts across him. "He came to me looking to track someone down; someone not seen for a long, long time-"

"Who?" he demands, sitting back in his place in the hope that his cooperation would be reciprocated.

There's a glitter in her eye as she answers. "Now that'd be telling, young man! The surprise will be worth the wait though, I'm telling you."

"I know it's not Robin Hood," he speculates. "Marian's gone for him. So who's Edward going for, if not you? If not you, then why're you here?"

"Questions, questions; so many questions!" she admonishes him playfully. "Patience, and all will be revealed. But if you're taking rebellion to the Sheriff, you'll be needing someone like me. Someone with knowledge of herbs and medicine, won't you."

He almost laughs. "You've come to help me?" he asks, cynical.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, Gisborne!" she replies. "Your special guest is in rather delicate health and requires my assistance. Now show me this barn you've got. That's where he's staying and I'll need to be close by to help."

* * *

Grateful for any opportunity to stop talking to Matilda, Guy leads the way through their small camp and back towards the Monastery grounds. The barn had become their headquarters, a convenient place to plan and shelter. Thus far, it was all the had in their fight against the Sheriff. Inside, was a dusty, empty space occupied by just a few desolate bales of hay that had started to come undone. Probably where they had been used as seating during their late night meetings.

"Someone's coming up in the world!" Matilda noted, giving him a wink as she surveyed the barn.

He forced himself to smile, but managed only a lopsided sneer. "I'm shot of the Sheriff; some might call that 'coming up in the world'".

She whirled back around, looking him dead in the eye again. "Then I think you and I might just start getting along again."

It is a start. Deciding that this is the best place to store his plans of the Castle, Guy turns to leave but then the door opens again, letting in a flood of late afternoon sunshine. Allan A Dale appears, straight from a training session to judge by the state of his dishevelled appearance and flushed face. Breathless, it is clear he's been running, too.

"Guy, Sir Edward and Marian are back," he informs him between breaths, leaning against the door for support. He looks fit to drop.

Not wasting any more time, he strides out with Allan following at a trot behind him as he goes. They're approaching from opposite ends of the road just beyond the camp. Marian has Robin trailing reluctantly behind her on a grey palfrey. He supposes he should be grateful, but he cannot summon the feeling, least of all breathe any life into it. It's just Hood, darkening the doorway of his life once more. He cannot imagine ever being pleased about that.

However, turning to look down the opposite direction, Sir Edward guides a man on a mule. The man's hood is low, his face completely obscured. Guy cannot even determine the man's height or age. He looks like a Monk. Then, he remembers Marian. He had steeled himself to never seeing her again. Despite the fact that she's dragging Hood back into his life, a feeling of immense relief wells up inside him all the same. But, their reunion is stilted and awkward in front of Robin. Marian restrains herself, gives him a curt nod as she rides past him and along the road. She doesn't speak at all and he stands, watching, as she greets her father with much more enthusiasm.

It is a full minute before Guy realises that Robin Hood has dismounted right beside him. He's standing by his Palfrey, smoothing down the soft fur at the beasts sweating neck. Every so often, he shoots Guy a venomous look which he drops as soon as Guy notices, then goes back to petting the horse. Neither attempt any form of communication and, unwilling to be the object of Hood's seething scorn any longer, Guy heads back towards their headquarters. He casts a look back in Sir Edward's direction as he goes, curiosity piqued as to who is under that Monk's habit.

* * *

It is almost dusk when they gather in the barn. Matilda has procured some tallow fat candles that hiss and spit into the silence as she lights them. They're better than the rush lights they have been using until that night, but the noise grates on Guy's nerves. And they stink. He leans against the back wall of the barn, ignoring Marian's offers of a seat and keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the door. Opposite him, Robin adopts very much the same manner, just with his gaze fixed on the wall at Guy's back. Both refuse to speak to each other, and Marian's attempts at cajoling them both into banter fail and sink like the White Ship. Matilda, thankfully, fills the air with a constant stream of chatter that veers from the humours observational to the downright insulting. Nevertheless, it fills what will easily be a great and terrible silence.

Finally, as darkness fully descends on the world outside, Sir Edward guides in his guest. He looks aged and tired as he does so, the journey has obviously been hard on him. Seeing the toll it's taken, Guy knows he should be making an effort. But then he glances at Robin, and thinks better of it. It's not as though he's trying, either. Marian looks like she wants to bash both their heads together.

"Guy … Robin," Sir Edward speaks, finally drawing the attention of both of them as they glower at one another. "There's someone I would like you both to meet."

Sir Edward guides his guest as if he were a blind man, over to the middle of the room to stand in the light of the candles. He isn't blind, however. The mystery man lowers his own hood, revealing a face heavily scarred. Guy studies him intently; Marian doing the same. But no alarm bells ring, no trace of recognition is flared in Guy's memory. The man is just a stranger to him. He is almost disappointed.

Robin, however, steps closer to him. Guy watches the Outlaw's reaction carefully. Tentative, uncertain. He has paled visibly. Whoever the man is, it has clearly shaken Hood. Intrigued, Guy takes another look. The memory drops like a bomb in his head just as Robin finally finds his tongue.

"Father?"

Guy groans, almost walks away but for Marian gripping his arm firmly to hold him in place. He tries to shake her off, but her grip gets tighter. He gives up with a huff of indignation as he slouches back against the wall to watch the family reunion. It isn't going well. Robin almost swings for his father and has to be restrained by one of Guy's guards.

"I thought you were dead!" he yells, struggling against the guards.

"Robin, please," Marian interjects, placing herself between Robin and Sir Malcolm. "Hear him out; hear what he has to say."

"Stay out of this, Marian," Robin retorts angrily. Guy has never heard him speak so brusquely to Marian before. "You know nothing!"

He is already beginning to calm, however. Malcolm looks terrified as he looks from Robin to Guy, but he gestures to them both, beckoning them closer to him. Guy looks to Marian, who gives him a small nod of encouragement. For her sake alone, he complies and takes small baby steps closer to him.

"This had better be good," Guy snorts derisively.

Robin chokes.

"Both of you, just hear him out," Sir Edward commands, moving into the small circle of light now occupied by Robin, Malcolm, Guy and Marian. Matilda has taken up a place in the shadows, like a sleeping referee.

Guy looks about awkwardly before decided to sit on the floor, just beyond the light and the others follow suit. Sir Malcolm's voice is weak, barely more than a whisper as he talks. "Listen to me, and I can free you from the bad blood that tears you apart," he begins.


	10. Raking The Ashes

**Author's Note:** thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. Apologies for the massive delay in getting this updated, but I hit a major block with this chapter and decided to put it on hiatus, rather than abandoning it. Thanks again for reading; reviews would be welcome. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Raking the Ashes**

Allan manages to get a small fire going in the middle of the barn; enough to take the chill off the night air, without filling the enclosed space with smoke. Once done, he goes to sit down beside Marian, who's still watching events unfold from the side lines of the barn. Matilda helps Malcolm to sit, while Guy and Robin put as much distance between each other as possible. Marian looks across at her father, who leans in close to Malcolm, whispering something in the aging hermit's ear. Clearly, he knows something and has done for some time. With her father out of earshot on the opposite side of the barn, and with Guy still reeling a few feet away from her, she leans towards Allan.

"Have you any idea what's going on?" she asks, keeping her voice low in the deathly silence.

Allan gives a shrug. "Haven't the foggiest," he replies, "and it's not looking promising either, is it?"

She doesn't need to answer that. Turning her attention to Robin, she sees him standing just outside the light of the fire. He's watching the flames, lost in his own thoughts and steadfastly refusing to look in the direction of his father, so newly resurrected from the grave. With neither her own father, Robin, Guy or Matilda giving anything away, she looks back at Malcolm, his scarred and weather beaten face now softened by the light of the fire, and thinks it high time he started talking.

Something Robin evidently agrees with. "Well?" he asks, still on his feet and still looking at the fire. "Talk."

She's never seen him act so cold, so hard. Whether Malcolm believed he could just walk back into Robin's life and be greeted with open arms, Marian cannot tell. But now that the moment of reunification has arrived, he seems to have lost his tongue. He's looking from Robin to Guy, as though picking which of them to appeal to first, despite the choice being rather obvious. But then, Marian cannot even begin to imagine how Guy even fits into this. She's leaning towards Allan again.

"Did they all know each other, or something? Did Robin say anything to you?" she asks in the midst of the growing tension.

"Nothing," he whispers back.

Patience was never her strongest virtue, but her wait is finally over. To her surprise, Malcolm turns his baleful eyes not to Robin, but Guy, who's seen fit to sit down rather than tower over them all, menacingly. Sir Edward gives Malcolm an encouraging nod.

"I want to tell you about the night your mother died, Guy" says Malcolm.

All eyes turn to Guy. At first, Marian wonders if he's even listening, he shows no reaction at all. He tucks his knees under his chin, looks into the same spot of fire as Robin and proceeds to ignore everyone.

"Robin and I both became orphans that night," he finally replies, then adds with a derisive snort: "Or, so we thought."

"You mean, you want to tell us about the night Guy managed to kill his own mother and father!" Robin exclaims gleefully, never missing an opportunity to kick the sand in his adversary's face.

Marian stifles a gasp, shooting a sharp look over at Guy. She's about to intrude over the conversation, demanding to know if it's true, a wave of revulsion washing over her. The sad thing is, she can well believe it of him. But her admonitory probing is cut off by Malcolm of Locksley.

"It's time you both knew the truth," he states, much more firmly now. Like he's getting back into the stride of being a father. "I loved Gislaine. I always did; I always will…"

Guy involuntarily shivers at the mention of his mother's name. Marian realises that, until that moment, Guy had never talked about her and she didn't even know his mother's name. Now that she thinks on it, it wasn't even Guy who told her she was French – the only piece of information she previously had about the woman.

"The fire's no big secret," Guy puts in.

Fire. Marian could have guessed – Guy was always handing with the flaming torches.

"What exactly is – pardon the expression – raking over the ashes going to achieve?" Robin demands, looking dangerously close to walking out.

"Just hear your father out, Robin!" Sir Edward snaps, vocalising his daughter's own growing impatience.

They reach another angry impasse, one which Marian attempts to end with a little sugar coated coaxing. "Sir Malcolm, if you know of something which can end this deadly enmity, please speak," she appeals directly to the source of contention. "If you had an affair with Guy's mother, then I'm sure no one thinks ill of either you or her." She realises she's completely wrong about that, but anything to make the man feel more at ease.

It pays off.

"Remember the night Roger of Gisbourne came home from the Crusade," Malcolm starts to reminisce. "We thought he was dead; Gisbourne Manor was handed over to Gislaine and we held a community fair to mark the end of the second Crusade-"

"Oh yes!" Guy cuts over him, now. "The night Robin almost got me hanged for murder. The good ole' days, eh?"

Marian's feelings turn on a trice as she shoots a look over to Robin, daring him to contradict Guy's words.

"I owned up," he rounds on Guy furiously.

"Only after I'd had that noose round my neck!" Guy counters back at him.

Marian heaves an impatient sigh. "Stop it!" she calls out, getting to her feet. "Let the man talk, please."

"Robin, you were showing off with my bow," Malcolm finally steps in. "Even at that age, you should have known better-"

"I'm sorry, but can someone please explain from the beginning?" Marian asks, regretting to intrude, but it was all so bloody confusing to the outsiders.

Malcolm obliges her. He starts again, from the beginning of the village fete and the celebrations Gislaine had planned to welcome the returning Crusaders, as well as commemorate the dead – including, or so they thought, her own husband, Roger of Gisbourne. The climax of the night involved a fire wheel, brought back from the Holy Lands, it was meant as a giant firework, like a Catherine Wheel, only much larger. A flaming arrow had to be shot at it, hitting a lantern whose sparks would light the wheel itself. Until, that is, Robin decided he – rather than Guy – was best suited to the job. Pity poor Swain, the man trying to hoist the damn contraption into place at the time.

"Gislaine saved Swain's life," Malcolm recalls. "I'd never seen such a thing. She cut a hole into his chest to release the trapped air, allowing him to breathe."

"By which time, Bailiff Longthorne was ready to see me swing," Guy reminds them all, bitterly. Then he rolls his eyes, remembering something long buried in a rush. "I was already at the gallows when father returned from the dead. He was the one who pulled the hood off me."

Marian shivers involuntarily; it made her stomach churn to imagine coming so close to being hanged and all because some ten year old idiot was messing with things far beyond his grasp. She can see now, just how far back; how deep rooted the hatred is. Dragging it all out into the open is one thing, however; actually mending it, another matter altogether. She still cannot see what all this is going to achieve.

"A fight broke out, then," Malcolm's voice intrudes upon Marian's private musings. "Between Sir Roger and Bailiff Longthorne. Sir Roger won the day, but the price was a knife right through his hand. He didn't even notice the blade, at first. He didn't turn a hair. Not even as he pulled it out."

"Leper," Robin phrases it bluntly, without emotion.

"Gislaine and I," Malcom continues fast, hoping no one noticed Robin's insensitivity. "We were already planning on being wed. We loved each other, deeply. We were going to be a family; all of us."

Marian shudders at the thought of Guy and Robin growing up in the same household.

"My mother stayed loyal to my father," Guy protests. "Until you terrified her into leaving him, with horror stories about being forced out of town with nothing but the clothes she stood up in."

"You know what they did to lepers, Guy," Malcolm returns. "Everyone saw what happened with the knife and the secret was out. Longthorne and the others, they were all coming for Sir Roger. All his lands and property would be forfeit and you, Isabella and your mother would all be turned out with nothing. By marrying me you would all be protected. Surely, you can see that."

Lepers are the walking dead; forced to exist on the outskirts of society and forbidden the company of anyone beside other lepers. Colonies congregated away from the ignorant eyes of civilisation, the greatest of taboos. Marian looks over at Guy, but his head is hung low so she cannot read his expression. It's small wonder he's never talked of his father before. But, the Sheriff knew, didn't he? He always made pointed Leper jokes in front of Guy, and she could never work out why.

Robin makes a sound at the back of his throat, like he's choking. "What's all this got to do with a wedding?" he demands to know of his father. Then, he turns towards Guy. "You knew, didn't you?"

"I found out," Guy replies, clearly not as offended by the wedding as Robin. "After Father was cast out, I saw my mother breaking the quarantine rules and visiting my father at the colony. I was angry because she had forbidden me to ever see him again. I followed her and she caught me. She told me then that the marriage was going to happen in a matter of days. She swore me to secrecy and you, especially, were not to be told."

Robin is scandalised. "When was I going to be told?"

Guy laughs mirthlessly. "You're not the one who's father was being replaced only days after his social death, are you?" he snaps at the outlaw. "What have you got to be so offended for? God knows, you didn't deserve a step-mother as good as her."

Slowly, the painful past is detailed, pieced together to build a path that's led to a life time torn apart by lingering bitterness and ancient, adolescent rivalries. But, Marian senses the best is yet to come and silences Robin before and Guy can descend into another slanging match.

"What happened after your mother met you in the colony," Malcolm asks. "After she told you about the wedding."

Guy looks puzzled by the question, but then, it all happened so long ago. "She took ill, sent me to fetch a Doctor," he answers, recalling it clearly. Then, dawning comprehension breaks his expression. He groans aloud in the benefit of adult hindsight, something lacking when he was but a child. "She was having a baby, wasn't she? Your baby."

Silence. Everyone looks to the other.

"That's the real reason we had to rush the wedding," Malcolm confesses. "Gislaine, in the eyes of the law, was a widow. She was also heavy with another man's bastard child. She gave birth to him that night. We had him secreted away until after the marriage, to avoid a scandal. But not long after he was taken, Sir Roger came back-"

"I remember it," Guy recalls. "He returned to try and win back his wife's affections, to spend his last months on earth surrounded by his children. You couldn't even let him have that one last comfort. When you came back, I tried to stop you with the torch. The fire took hold and everyone died. We all know how it goes and I don't know why you feel the need to torture me with the memories now?"

"Guy, it was an accident," Marian states, finally moving to sit beside him. Tormented by his own past, he pulls away from her. "I wanted to save her; but Isabella…" his words break off, and Marian is loath to torment him with these ghosts any more.

Malcolm has no such qualms. "No," he states, adamantly. "I sent you out with your sister. Then I went up to get Gislaine. Roger was already there, with her. She had just given birth and was exhausted. The flames hadn't reached upstairs at that moment and they had no idea the house was even on fire. A fight broke out and I accidentally hit Gislaine as she tried to get between Roger and I. It was an accident, you have to believe me-" his words melt into a loaded silence.

Finally, Guy cannot take any more. "You killed her," he says, his voice low.

Marian looks across the room, towards Malcolm. She can see it in his eyes. The torment; the regret and the shame.

"She hit her head, she was dead before she hit the ground," he confesses, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he does. "I would never have hurt her intentionally, never. We were going to spend the rest of our lives together-"

"All these years, I blamed myself!" Guy rounds on Malcolm. Marian has no intention of stopping him. "Every single day, I have carried that guilt, letting it eat away at me!"

In a trice, he's on his face and across the room, gripping Locksley by the throat. Marian cannot blame him for his anger, but she cannot watch him throttle the man. She clears the space between them in one leap, trying to pull Guy off Malcolm. It's a scene that must be horribly reminiscent of that fateful night, all those years ago. But she knows Guy wouldn't throw her to he ground, even by accident. To her ire, Robin does nothing.

"He's betrayed us both!" Robin snorts, practically spitting the words in the dust at his feet.

Finally, with Matilda and Sir Edward's help, the two men are separated again. Guy is breathless and furious, still reeling from the revelations. All these years, blaming himself for the death of his own parents.

Marian wraps her arms around Guy's waist, looking up at him imploringly. "Sit back down with me, please," she pleads. "Let Malcolm finish."

He looks down at her as if she is a stranger to him, not a trace of recognition in those piercing blue eyes. He extricates himself from Marian, and talks directly to Malcolm. "You ran and left me to take the consequences," he says.

"After all your high minded lecturing to me about taking responsibility," Robin interjects. "You're a hypocrite and a coward. You're no father to me; you've been dead to me for years and you still are."

"Robin, shut up!" Marian screams at him, finally reaching the end of her tether. "You weren't branded a murderer because of him, so stop your whinging."

Calm is slowly restored, but no one moves an inch. The fight has been paused, rather than dissolved.

"The next day, Isabella and I were cast out of the village. Orphans, penniless, no land and no home," Guy recalls, bitterly. "We had nothing but the clothes we stood up in. And they cast us out. Not a single person offered help… No one… Nothing."

Fifteen years of anguish shows in his face. All the fight gone from him, leaving him with nothing but the trauma of his own history weighing him down. There, Marian sees it. The point in time when Guy's future was written; the crossroads where a scrap of human compassion could have saved him. Now, his lips compress as he bites down on whatever furious, inarticulate retort is on the tip of his tongue. She thinks he's going to attack physically, but instead, he runs out the door, physically unable to listen to any more. He leaves, in his wake, a towering silence.

* * *

He couldn't breathe in there, any more. The cold night air slaps him in the face, like the final insult in a row, as he leaves the barn and stalks across the clearing. He keeps walking, not mindful of where the path ahead takes him and stopping only when he finds his path blocked by high verge. Broken and alone, he doubles over and lets the anger consume him, burying his face in his hands as he goes over it all again. It's too much for him, though. His stomach lurches and he vomits down the back of an old out house used for housing pigs. Spitting the bitter residue out, he walks towards an open field; somewhere he can breathe and think freely. Somewhere with no walls; no obstacles.

The woods are to his left, a large duck pond to his right. He opts for the water, glacial and reflecting the star strewn sky. He sits at the water's edge and ponders the big question of his existence: is it worse to be the epitome of all that's wrong with humanity? Or is it worse to be led to think you're all that's wrong with humanity? That burden of guilt has been lifted from his shoulders, but it's left in its wake a void filled with anger and resentment.

Footsteps fall on the soft ground behind him, jolting him out of his reverie. He turns slowly, prepared to tell whoever it is to vanish.

"Marian," he says, when he sees it's her. He raises a wan smile that she probably cannot see in the pale moonlight. "No offence, but I need to be alone."

She doesn't halt; keeps advancing on him regardless. "I'm not leaving you like this," she retorts.

He doesn't want her to see him like this, though. Not in this state of desolation. "It's cold," he says, his voice wavering with emotion. "Go back inside and wait for me."

"No," she replies, her usual defiant self.

He almost laughs. All these years he's fought for every second of her precious attention, and now she will not go, even when he begs. She sits down at his side and wraps her arms around him, cradling his head under her chin; she just holds him like that. She doesn't speak; what can she possibly say? His fickle heart changes again, and he makes no effort to push her away.

* * *

TBC: I didn't have time in this chapter to cover the whole "Archer" business, but that will be covered next time. Sorry again for the two month delay in getting this chapter posted, writing the backstory without completely rehashing what we saw on the show proved a major stumbling block. Thank you for being patient and sorry if the chapter wasn't up to scratch in terms of originality.


	11. Divided We Fall

**Author's Note:** thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot to know people are still reading this after such a long hiatus! Usual disclaimers apply and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and sticking with me! Reviews, as always, would be appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Divided We Fall**

There is one part of Malcolm's story that Marian keeps going back to: the baby he and Gislaine had. The old man said it existed; Guy realised his mother was in labour – but only through hindsight and Malcolm said the intention was to spirit the infant away. He didn't say where; for how long, or if the baby even lived. But, if true and living still, it will be the glue that binds them all together. All these years and she could never have guessed that Guy and Robin are as good as brothers. Whatever the situation, no matter what has occurred between them in the past, they need to talk face to face. This is no longer about feuds, or her, or the Sheriff. It's about family.

She drops her gaze, to where Guy is still cradled in her arms, his head tucked under her chin. When he shivers in the cold gusty breeze she wraps her own cloak around his shoulders, managing to stretch the velvet to cover them both. For a moment, she thinks he's dozed off, but he moves suddenly; sitting up straight and shrugging off the cloak she'd stretched over him.

"I'm alright," he assures her, his voice hoarse. But it's as though he doesn't know what to do with his new liberation from the past. His gaze darts all around, as if looking for an escape despite there being nothing but open countryside and woodlands all around them.

"No one expects you to be alright," she replies, regarding him closely. "Not after that. Not after finding out your mother and father were killed by her own lover, not long after giving birth to a love-child you didn't know existed."

She didn't mean to make Gislaine sound like a wanton woman. Guy's mother had fallen in love with Sir Malcolm only after being informed of her husband's death. Even if that had not been the case, Marian herself knows only too well what it is to be torn between two men. Her duty lay with the man she married, her heart belonged with the man she loved. The tangled web those elders weaved, it is their children caught up in it now.

Guy trails a broken weed across the smooth surface of the pond, watching the ripples form and glitter in the moonlight as they spread outwards. When he talks to her, it is as if he's addressing the fish below the surface, more than her. His eyes are half-closed, his voice low, barely a whisper.

"I thought I was a murderer," he says. Only a brief sidelong glance confirms that he is, indeed, talking to her. "From the age of thirteen, I thought I was a murderer. I believed I was born like that. Just bad…" Unaccustomed to baring his soul, he breaks off as he struggles to articulate long buried emotions. The pale moonlight hides his blushing, for shame rather than any other finer feeling. "Do you know what I mean? The Sheriff, I think, was born a bad person. Just rotten. But he's good at it. I thought I was the same as him and I tried to live up to my own reputation. I didn't care what people thought, because I knew I was a murderer - you can't go back from that, so what was the use in pretending to be anything different?"

Marian realises, Guy is a self-fulfilling prophecy. He thinks he's a bad person; everybody else thinks he's a bad person and treats him accordingly; he behaves like a bad person. It is a cycle that goes round and round, relatively undisturbed by his efforts to break it. The wheel turns, time passes and bloodshed begets bloodshed. Except, in Guy's case, the original prophecy is a lie. His whole future has been written and played out on a barefaced life, perpetuated by a man too cowardly to accept his own culpability.

Marian can see it all as plain as day. But, she wonders, can Guy?

"It's not too late to change everything," she says, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "The way I see it, you were already set on the right path, even before Malcolm got here. We've been planning the Sheriff's downfall for weeks and you've done most of the legwork alone. You still believed you were an evil person, yet you were set heart and soul on doing the right thing, anyway. Don't you see how significant that is?"

Guy drops the weed he was trailing across the water, and turns to face her as it slinks below the surface. "What are you saying?" he asks, his brow creased.

Suddenly, Marian finds herself wanting. "I guess, what I mean is, you didn't need to be told all this to know, deep down, that you are a good man. Regardless of the lies and the deception of others making you believe otherwise, you always had it in you – that capacity for compassion." She hears the snort of disbelief. "I've seen it before, Guy. I told Robin, once, that you have 'qualities'. I can't explain it, but it's true. I've seen it in you, underneath everything else. That part of you has been fighting to get out."

Guy looks down, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze. "Only you brought that out," he sheepishly admits.

Marian reaches out, tilts his chin up so they're looking directly at each other. "It had to be there in the first place for me – or anyone else – to bring that out of you," she firmly tells him.

Now is not the time to browbeat him, or argue over semantics. He's exhausted after a long night during which the fabric of his very existence was exposed as a lie. He's been forced to confront his own demons, go face to face with his oldest enemy and expose his own agonising history to a room full of onlookers. She will not subject him to more emotional turmoil than he's already endured. Not even to tell him that she is falling in love with him, and that she has been for some weeks.

She stands and holds out a hand to him, where he still sits at the water's edge. "Come on," she coaxes him, almost motherly. "You must try and sleep."

Together, they walk back towards the barn. However, instead of risking being called back inside, they skirt around the rear of the building and make their way back to camp undetected. George and his men are sleeping, naturally since it's past two in the morning. Guy's little set up is close to Marian's, near the edge of a river. If they stay much longer, they'll have to move back or risk being flooded in the coming autumn rains.

They stop outside his makeshift shelter and face each other. It's a stiff, awkward moment as they each wonder what they should say or do next. The silence filled with a stifled laugh, as they each sense they're stumbling over the same blocks. It's like they've returned from a first date.

"Er, well," says Guy, looking towards his shelter, where his bed – such as it is – waits. "Good night then."

With that, he turns and disappears inside without further preamble. For a long moment, she watches the space where he vanished, listening only to the muffled sounds of his getting undressed. She is falling in love. She knows it well. But there's still one obstacle in her road, and it's not Robin Hood anymore. It's the Night Watchman.

She turns slowly towards her own shelter – a glorified tent, while still troubling over her own secrets. Now is not the time or place, not after what Malcolm had revealed. But, her own secret past as the Night Watchman looms in her mind. Guy will need to be told, if they are to stand any chance at all. Another deception to throw in with the rest. Will he still love her when he finds out? That's what really stops her from giving in to this growing love. She has no choice but to reveal all, and the thought of keeping up the deception makes her feel sick – her own honesty will not permit it. Not now that Guy is firmly on side. Maybe he will understand, or maybe he will hate her for it. Either way, only when the truth is out, will she truly succumb to her feelings and it frightens her more than she cares to admit.

* * *

No one sleeps, beside George and his men – who're blissfully unaware of what's happened. Matilda continues to minister to Malcolm, the herbs and remedies to ease his aching joints. Sir Edward keeps close, as though worried the old hermit will turn another vanishing trick, now that the going's got tough. Robin, having already sent word out to his Gang to stand down, now takes up his place in the barn. By the fire, looking morosely into the flames and chewing absent mindedly at a fingernail.

Having singularly failed to get any sleep, Guy returns at dawn. Fully dressed, he only got as far as kicking the spurs off his boots during his attempt at sleep. He finds everyone almost as he left them, with the exception of Marian, who he assumes is asleep in her tent. For a moment, everyone turns to look up at him as he enters. After a second, however, the surprise wears off and they go back to doing whatever it was they were doing before he arrived.

He looks around and selects the two people he needs to talk to. "Leave us," he says to the others.

Robin, Malcolm and Guy stand in a triangle formation around the fire, as everyone else filters silently out in to the breaking dawn. Once the door closes silently behind Allan A Dale, the remaining three men all look from one to the other, silently.

Finally, it is Guy himself who speaks up.

"You said there was a child," he says, looking at Malcolm. "We have a half-sibling."

"A half-brother," the old man confirms. "Archer."

How appropriate, Guy thinks.

The news has even jolted signs of life out of Robin. "Where is he now? Alive?"

"He was taken to the Abbey of Kirklees," Malcolm explains. "Gislaine and I were going to bring him back once we were married and she'd had enough time to fake a pregnancy. It was so everyone would think him legitimate."

Guy warms his hands by the small fire. "That's understandable," he's forced to admit. The father of a bastard son himself, he knows the stigma that attaches itself to unmarried women. They are damaged goods, sinners and whores. Often, if the father refuses to acknowledge the child, the church authorities will step in and seize the infant as a "donation" to God, for their local Holy Order. "He'll be a fully ordained Monk by now, I guess" Guy says, surprised at just how calm he is. The truth is, he's curious about this other sibling. Just as he sometimes wonders how Isabella is getting on. She never writes to him, any more.

Malcolm snorts. "He's in prison in York, as it happens."

"Oh!" Guy retorts, laughing at his own gross misreading of his brother's character. To his surprise, Robin is laughing also. Even Malcolm's twisted visage arranges itself into a grin. Or a grimace. The fire that killed Guy's parents has left Malcolm heavily scarred.

Robin glances up at them. "Must take after you, Gisbourne!"

The laughter shuts off as soon as it started and Robin burns with embarrassment. Guy, caught off guard, lets the remark slip. "I'm sorry," Robin splutters, "I was just joking, I didn't mean it." At least he realises it's far too soon to be acting pally.

"I don't know much," Malcolm talks over the silence that follows Robin's misjudged gaffe. "But Archer will be out in a year, at most. And, I know I have no right to be asking anything of either of you-"

"You got that right!" Robin interjects, almost as if trying to make up for his earlier slip-up with Guy. "I mourned for you!"

"I took the wrap for your murders," Guy reminds him, bitterly.

Malcolm seems to shrink inside himself, acutely ashamed of not only his own actions, but of his utter inability to make any kind of amends. He turns his watery, blue eyes from Guy to Robin, appealing to them both.

"I am dying," he confesses. It's not exactly a surprise to either Robin or Guy; Malcolm is aging and a lifetime spent living as an outcast Hermit is showing. "So, forgive me taking this liberty: it would mean a lot to me, as well as to Gislaine, if you could set aside your differences and take care of Archer. Take him under your wing-"

"Hang on a minute," Robin interjects, holding up his hand for silence. "It might have escaped your attention but-"

"We're outlaws, both of us!" Guy finishes Robin's sentence. "Who haven't been able to set aside our differences long enough to decide which way was up and which way down!"

"You don't intend on staying an Outlaw forever, do you Guy?" the hermit of Locksley turns that doleful gaze on Guy as he speaks.

"Of course not," he replies. "But I need the Sheriff out of the way, first."

"That's what you unites you," says Malcolm. "You have a common enemy; a common cause and a common History. Now that the truth has set you free, don't you think it's time…" his words trail off. Both Robin and Guy continue looking at him, waiting for more. But he leaves it there, looking back at them both expectantly, making it clear what he expects to happen next.

After a moment, both Robin and Guy turn to look at each other across the dying fire. As unexpected as this turn of events is for them both, as hard it is for them both, they know they need each other.

"England's finest Archer," says Malcolm, looking at Robin. "Shoulder to shoulder with England's greatest Swordsman," he adds, turning to Guy.

Guy looks at Robin, who extends his hand towards him. "Divided we fall," he says.

Slowly, hesitantly, Guy takes Robin's extended hand. "United we stand," he finishes the old, albeit back to front, cliché.

Neither of them like it; they're not comfortable with it. They don't like each other, or even particularly trust each other. But for the sake of a common enemy, they'll make it work. It's time to make or mar, for them both. Briefly, they shake hands and let go quickly.

"There," says Malcolm. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" He sounds like a father again. Neither of them answer.

Something deep inside Guy's mind slots into place. Unbidden; out of the blue, it pops up with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs. The leper jokes that Vaisey loved to taunt him with. The way he always called Marian their "little lady Leper friend". The way he repeated the word, "Lepers, Gisbourne, lepers!" when he caught him looking. The fire jibes; the way Vaisey coaxed him into burning down Marian's house. It all makes sense with a crashing wall of reality dawning. He didn't just know about Sir Roger - information any of the older villagers could let slip; he knew it all.

"Who helped you?" he asks, turning to Malcolm. "Someone held your silence. Someone covered your tracks. Who?"

Malcolm looks him in the eye, seeing as the worst betrayals were already done and he had little left to be ashamed of. "Vaisey was new in town at the time," he answers. "If I had known then what I know now-"

"Answer the question!" Robin snaps at him, stopping his divergence before it can start.

Malcolm swallows hard. "Sir Edward only had an inkling that I was still alive," he says, "but it was the new Sergeant at Arms, Vaisey, who saw me escape from the fire. He was on patrol at the perimeter of the village of Locksley. He knew that Gislaine and Sir Roger must have been inside and dead. I bought his silence with a recommendation for his promotion, pre-dated so it came from when I was still legally alive. No one would ever have known. He knew the whole story, Guy. He knew all along." Malcolm facilitated Vaisey's rise to power. Sir Edward had tried to hold him off. It is all so clear, now.

A cold chill wraps its icy tendrils around Guy's spine, working its way up his body. He's dimly aware of Robin, stunned and with his jaw virtually hitting the floor. But even that is drowned out by his own deadening need for revenge. Robin is alright; Robin's always been an enemy. He's always known where he stood. But Vaisey is different: there will be more blood on his hands, soon enough. Of that, Guy is resolved.


	12. Moving On

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading, and reviews are welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Moving On**

In accordance with the new found spirit of unity, Guy decides not to ask where Robin got the gilt Wassail cup from. But the table on which it stands, placed in the center of their barn, has been legitimately borrowed from the nearby Monastery, along with three chairs placed around the edge. Marian produces the wine she bought, also from the monks whose vineyards stretch westwards to catch the best of the sun. Like all English wine, it carries the faint aroma of horse piss and something Guy can't quite place, yet is probably all the better off for it. Marian fills it to the brim, and takes her seat at the table, between Guy and Robin who face each other from opposing ends of the table.

The two of them, Guy and Robin, never take their gaze off each other. Edgy and nervous, apprehension crawls through them both. The only thing that keeps them there is the sure knowledge that they both feel the same way, have the same misgivings and fears. As such, Marian leads the way, hoping to coax them into mutual accord. She leans across the table and slides the Wassail cup towards her, drawing it almost into an embrace.

"I'll go first," she says, "then Guy and Robin, you can seal the union."

She lifts the cup to her lips and drinks deeply, before passing it along to Guy. He follows suit without hesitation, then passes it to Robin, tears in his eyes at the burning, acrid taste of the bowl's contents. Robin coughs deeply as the wine goes down, before replacing the bowl. Marian gives a haughty sniff at the both of them.

"Sorry it's not quite the fine, Burgundian Claret you were both clearly expecting," she says, suppressing a grin.

Robin is aghast. "You didn't pay for that, did you?"

Marian looks back at him reprovingly. "I am not a thief."

Guy smirks. "What I think Robin means is, it would have been cheaper to just put the bowl under the horses-"

"Guy!" Marian cuts him off, wide eyed with exaggerated offence. "The Wassail has served its purpose, I hope. You've shared the same cup and have not been poisoned-"

"Oh, I don't know about that!" Robin quips.

Marian gets to her feet, sensing her part in the exercise has come to an end.

"I trust that you both will talk openly with each other," she says, ignoring Robin's jest.

Guy can tell she's itching to be invited to stay behind, so she can hear their plans for the downfall of the Sheriff. But this had been something she, herself had negotiated between them the night before. Face to face talks, just Guy and Robin, as they tentatively feel their way to a full alliance, during which the shackles that kept them bound to their own history were finally cast aside. He looks up at her and smiles.

"Thank you, Marian," he says, refusing to buckle to her silent request. "That will be all."

Her final role is to take the men's weapons away with her, so she slings Robin's long bow over her shoulder and takes Guy's sword, walking away with them both.

"A sweet red, next time, Marian!" Robin calls out after her, but his laughter dies away quickly once they're alone together.

With Marian gone, they only have each other to focus on. The barn has been cleared, the floor swept and some tallow candles burn at strategic points for light. The door left ajar, coaxing in a little more precious light to see by in the cavernous gloom of their new headquarters. However, the lingering smell of wet livestock is still in the air, despite the herbs Matilda was constantly burning in there.

Both men wish to get down to business, but neither knows how to go about it with decency, after so many years of bitter enmity. Without Marian leading them by the hand, they lose their way and wind up in a stifled silence. When, after a full five minutes, Guy goes to speak, Robin does so at the same time, each other's voice lost in the clash of words.

Robins secedes to Guy. "You first."

Guy's already forgotten what he was going to say. "I was just wondering," he says, making up something new to break the last layer of ice with. "Have you spoken with your father today?"

Robin shakes his head. "No," he says, flatly. Making it clear this subject is still painful.

Guy's gaze drops to his hands, folded in front of him on the table. Just for something to do, he helps himself to more of the bitter wine before pushing the bowl over to Robin. According to ceremony, they should drink it dry before starting to trust each other. But ceremony means little to either of them.

"I think you should," Guy puts in. "It's your last chance and I think the past has claimed enough victims as it is."

Robin lowers the Wassail bowl after his second draught of its wine, his tawny eyes softening considerably. "Perhaps," he agrees. "What about you? Can you forgive?"

Forgive isn't a big enough word for what Guy feels he must do. He can forgive the ignorant villagers who turned their backs on him – they didn't know any better. He can forgive Longthorne, for his treatment of Sir Roger of Gisbourne. Lepers were legally the walking dead, cast out of society by law. That was not his fault. As he tries to consider forgiving Sir Roger, however, something shuts down in his piercing blue eyes. He cannot forgive the cowardice that led to him being branded a murderer. But, he knows he must.

He raises his head to look at Robin again. "I don't know," he replies, truthfully. He emphasises his indecision with a shrug. "Maybe, once this is all over…"

At the opposite side of the table, Robin's expression opens in a small smile. "Guy," he says, addressing his old nemesis by his first name for the first time. "Tell me now, straight up: are you serious about bringing down the Sheriff?"

"Yes," he answers, devoid of doubt or hesitation. "I've thought of nothing but that goal since I, er, left his employment."

Robin laughs. "Left his employment," he repeats. "That's one way of phrasing it!"

Guy also laughs. Just for the briefest of moments, the two old enemies are laughing together. But, business interjects, as it must.

"Then we need to plan," Robin says, fully serious now. "I have men and can raise more from the villages of Locksley, Nettlestone and my old lands at Huntingdon. What about you?"

Guy considers it for a moment. He had never exactly endeared himself to the people of Nottingham, so recruitment is his first obstacle.

"Some of my retainers, led by George, my old Sergeant, have joined me," he replies. "But there's only five of them. With an indeterminate number of men left behind, waiting to join us when the battle starts. The Sheriff's own men are turning against him; they're also waiting for the battle to start before declaring themselves for us."

Robin's expression clouds with doubt. "What about your sister's husband?" he asks. "Will he join us? You're natural allies and he could benefit from this?"

"The Earl of Shrewsbury is an untrustworthy snake in the grass," Guy admits. "If I had known as much before, I would never have agreed to the match."

Robin slumps back in his seat, almost as if defeated already. "So, we're relying on unarmed villagers and an unknown number of men at arms rebelling against the Sheriff?"

Guy cannot contradict him; that's their situation in a nutshell. However, he's not done.

"Stealth," he says, matter of factly. "If we can get inside the Castle undetected – which I believe you've done several times before – we can get control of the Sheriff, easily."

For a minute, the other man is silent. He's fixing Guy with a shrewd, calculating look. He can tell Robin is interested, he can almost see the cog wheels in his head turning. Guy presses the advantage.

"If you get a knife to that man's throat, he's reduced to a gibbering wreck," he states, his eyes glittering with suppressed excitement.

"But how do we get so many people inside the Castle undetected, and with weapons?" asks Robin, still holding back. "Do you think the guards will turn a blind eye?"

"I can't count on it," replies Guy. "But, there is a secret tunnel running from the churchyard, marked by a false grave, straight into the Great Hall of the Castle. If we use that, then we won't have to worry about breaching the Castle walls. The tunnel will take us right in there."

A smile briefly flickers at the corners of Robin's mouth. "Breaching the Castle walls is the hardest part. So that's half the battle won," he says. "Does the Sheriff know about the tunnel?"

"Yes," he admits. "He ordered its construction in the first place. It's supposed to be an escape route for him, should he need to make a hasty retreat. But he knows that I know about it, too. I supervised the construction. Now that I've turned, he could block it up at the first opportunity and build another I don't know about."

Robin is still smiling, looking relaxed now, with one foot on the table. "He won't block the old tunnel until the new one is finished," he says, calculating the Sheriff's weak spots. "He won't take the risk of not having an escape route at all. Guy, you know his movements better than anyone. Is he ever in the great hall alone?"

"No, he only uses it for council meetings," explains Guy. "But we can get him there. Send in one of your men, or someone from one of the villages, someone unknown to the Sheriff. He'll grant an audience with anyone who has information about you-"

"And you these days, Gisbourne," Robin cuts in. "But I see where you're going. If we tell them to pass on false information about where we are, at a certain time, we can guarantee that the Sheriff will meet with them in the Great Hall, at that precise time."

"Exactly," Guy agrees. "But we need to be in the Hall end of the tunnel right at that moment. So, send in someone armed. They can join the fight."

Robin mulls it over for a minute. "What about your Sergeant at Arms?" he asks.

"George," Guy replies. "The Sheriff knows he's been here with us. He would be a credible source of information. Vaisey will definitely want to speak with him. He's got sympathisers inside, so he could be arrested by one of them, taken to the Hall to speak with Vaisey, preferably alone, and we can make our move as soon as Vaisey sends out the guards to come and look for us. By the time they get back, it will be too late for them to save Vaisey."

Robin smiles brightly, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head. "Brilliant," he says, sounding satisfied. "We can take the castle by stealth, with minimal lives lost and minimal fuss. The only question is, what do we do with Vaisey, once we have him under control?"

Guy returns Robin's smile and produces a key from his belt. "I still have these," he says, giving them a quick jangle. "For the dungeons."

Robin chuckles quietly. "Nice one," he drawls approvingly. "When can we begin the assault? It needs to be fast."

Guy agrees. "We send George to Nottingham tomorrow and we all follow him, staying off the main roads."

In agreement, they share the remainder of the Wassail wine. Their goals set out, they turn their minds to preparations for the assault on the Castle. If the fine weather holds, it could be done within the day. They shake hands, firmly, resolute on their next steps.

* * *

Marian doesn't so much as flinch as Guy explains the plan to her. After an eternity, or at least a month, spent on the run, it feels to her like it's all come crashing to a very sudden conclusion. So many days and weeks spent waiting for something to happen, and suddenly, it has. Or, is about to on the morrow.

She and Guy walk along the river's edge, the sun dipping low on the horizon and ushering in the dusky end of day, haze. The forest stretches out of their right, the river to their left. The woodlands beyond feeding into Sherwood Forest, across the Country border. The air is clear and light, now that the heat of the day has passed. The atmosphere is lazy and slow. There's no hint of the impending storm brewing over Nottinghamshire.

"Are you ready for this?" asks Marian, turning to look up at Guy.

He replies with a shrug. "As I'll ever be."

She had intended to use this time to confess about her Night Watchman role. But, the revelation that Malcolm had been the first to help the rise of Vaisey, as well as the plans for the siege of the Castle, had driven it from her mind again. Wrong time; wrong place. And right now, Guy looks the happiest she has seen him in days. He's set on his purpose, and enjoying the last few hours of peace and quiet before all hell breaks loose once again. She will not spoil it with her own selfish confessions. Not right now.

"Where are the others?" he asks, glancing back towards their camp.

"George has gone to check the tunnel you told Robin about," she replies. "Father, Matilda and Malcolm are all resting up at the Monastery's sanctuary house. Robin and the Gang have their own camp further upriver." She smiles devilishly. "We're alone," she points out, drawing him in close.

Guy smiles as their gaze locks in on each other. "I honestly hadn't noticed," he whispers, leaning in close.

"Liar," she replies, a low murmur that brushes against the skin at his throat.

Hands reach for hips, a gentle, mutual tug as their bodies meet each other half way. They kiss, slowly, under the dusky skies. Oblivious to the small wind that plucks their flesh, they are lost in each other for just the briefest of minutes. He always thrilled her. She can admit that as she gives in to his kiss and draws apart, only reluctantly. She cannot let him go, now. She draws her hands up to his shoulders, caresses the taught muscle hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt, before cupping his face. She looks into those eyes, piercing blue that she sometimes thinks can see into her very soul.

She wonders what she will say to Robin. How will he react when she tells him? Surely, she must. The ceasefire between Robin and Guy will not withstand this revelation. After this unpleasant business is over, she will tell him. After all these months of making Guy wait for her, she must now wait for him. But there's one thing she must know.

"What comes next?" she asks, her voice still barely more than a whisper.

His brow creases into a small frown. "The siege," he replies.

"I mean after that!" she retorts, with a giggle all the same.

He shrugs. "The Sheriff needs to be under control, then we must gather evidence against him-"

"Guy, no," she presses a finger lightly to his lips. "I mean after all that."

He looks confused, not getting at what she's saying. "I suppose we'll need to reverse the attainders-"

She groans, giving him a nudge. "Guy!" she huffs, feeling an all familiar irritation close over her, stealing away her romantic mood. "I mean afterwards; after the bloody Sheriff and after the legal business."

His eyes slide out of focus, like he's trying to see into the future. "Well, we'll get together and elect a new Sheriff-"

"Oh, Guy, come on!"

The problem with Marian and the concept of waiting, is that patience was never her virtue. Guy looks flummoxed, like he's missing vital clues somewhere. "We'll make sure your father and you have a new place to live," he replies, thinking that will surely satisfy her.

It does not. She pulls away in indignation. After all these months or him asking her; she's going to have to ask him. "For goodness sake, will you marry me or not?"

His body stiffens as he absorbs the impact of the question, looking back at her wide eyed with shock. A few months ago, he would have turned cartwheels. But now, with his head in such a whirl to begin with, he can barely form a sentence. "Yes," he stammers, at length. "Yes, I suppose I will."

The Night Watchman can wait, this moment never will. Once again, they melt into each other's embrace, kissing under the rising moon.


	13. Honour Among Thieves

**Author's Note:** thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your feedback is very much appreciated. The usual disclaimers apply: I own none of this. Thanks again for reading!

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Honour Among Thieves **

Everything is in place, ready for the advance on Nottingham. Except for Robin's Gang. Having had Malcolm of Locksley's extraordinary story relayed to them by Robin himself, they could just about resolve themselves to the idea of fighting alongside Guy of Gisbourne. However Allan A Dale, the snake in their grass, had tipped them over the edge. Much was rendered silent – almost. Little John was threatening to walk. Will Scarlett's perma-scowl deepened. Accordingly, Robin called a crisis meeting to smooth things over.

Guy had spent the morning huffing about the delay, but Marian appeared soon after the commotion broke out and he remembered her proposal of the night before. Now, the two of them sit alone by the riverside. Marian, propped up against the sturdy trunk of an aged oak tree, while Guy reclines, resting his head in her lap, eyes drifting closed in languid afternoon warmth. The stream bubbled past them, while bees hovered over the late blossoming plants and the sunlight slanted through the boughs overhead. But the cumulative effect of this rural tranquillity is quite lost on Guy.

"Is it really any wonder Allan chose to defect?" he asks, twisting his head in Marian's lap, to where he gets a great view of her jaw. "It wasn't until I met them that I fully understood why. The torturers of Nottingham Castle have nothing on that lot."

Her hand stops midway through smoothing back his hair, and gives a sharp little tug. "Guy!" she warns him, admonishing him while grinning at his jests, all the same. "You've been under Sheriff Vaisey's spell too long; they're good people."

Guy snorts derisively. "Between the one who never shuts up, the one who communicates in a series of guttural grunts and the laughing boy who glowers at everyone," he mocks, "it's no wonder Vaisey looked appealing by comparison."

Marian gives him a sharp nudge. "Don't make me smack you, Guy," she warns, fighting back laughter. "These people you so casually mock are my friends!"

Guy groans audibly, wincing against some unseen, inner turmoil. "Does that mean these people will be at our wedding?"

"Yes!" she firmly retorts. "Much will be doing the feast-"

"John will be bridesmaid," he interjects with exaggerated gravity.

She tries to admonish him, but the effect is lost in her helpless laughter. "I have the perfect gown for him," she adds between fits of giggles. "And silk ribbons for his beard."

Guy smirks. "I still think Much will do better with the speeches," he says. "Laughing Boy –what's his name – Will! He can be Usher. A nice friendly face to show the guests to their seats."

Marian, torn between scolding him in defence of her friends and helpless laughter, tries again to pull herself together. "Alright," she says, "what will Allan be doing?"

Guy ponders that for a minute. "First, he'll fleece the guests with his three card trick," he speculates. "Then after the ceremony, he'll sneak into our marriage bed with a few of the local tavern wenches."

Marian's still grinning. "Yes, that's our Allan," she agrees.

Guy turns serious, however. The mention of Allan's name brings around the reason for their delay.

"They will sort this out, won't they?" he asks. "I mean, if they're as good a people as you say, then surely they'll not harbour a grudge?"

He had expected this reaction when they were told of his own involvement, not Allan's. However, as Marian had explained it to him that morning; he was not the traitor to them. He had always been the enemy. Allan had betrayed them; contemplated stealing from them and sold them out to the Sheriff. Honour among thieves; it is a code of its own.

"Robin will think of something," she assures him. "He always does."

For a minute, they let the silence close over them as they make the most of their last few hours together. Because, as soon as the row among the Outlaws is resolved, they leave for Nottingham and for the fight that's coming. For all either of them know, they could be dead by this time tomorrow. As soon as that thought pops into Guy's head, he turns opens his eyes again as though the realisation had physically jolted him. He goes to say something, but Marian cuts him off.

"Guy," she says, serious as she looks down at him, no longer stroking back his hair. "Sit up a minute. There's something I have to tell you."

With her expression so grave, he does as she bids. An all too familiar sense of nervous anticipation steals over him: she's changed her mind again, he thinks. It makes his stomach churn. His fears grow as she diverts her gaze, as though unable to look him in the eye, and stalls as she tries to find the right words. He wishes she would just spit it out, whatever it is.

"Guy," she repeats his name, finally looking back at him. "I need you to understand something…"

Again, her words trail off, leaving a half understood sentiment hanging in the air.

"What?" he prompts.

"That we need to start afresh," she replies.

He sags with relief. She's not backing out on him again, so what could possibly be so bad?

"I agree completely," he replies, still troubled by the peculiar turn in her mood. "If you want our betrothal to be a long one, that's alright. Whatever makes you happy."

"No," she says, placing a hand on his arm to still him. "I need to be honest with you about something. About something I did."

He almost laughs. Only the earnest look in her eyes stops him from dismissing her confession lightly. "Whatever you've done, Marian," he states, trying to keep his tone friendly rather than dismissive. "It cannot possibly be half as bad as most of the things I've done. So, just say it."

"Alright then," she concurs. "All along, I was the Night Watchman."

It takes a second for what she said to register. His expression blanked with incomprehension, followed by what felt to him like a punch in the stomach of shock.

"No," he whispers, on impulse. "That cannot be. I-" He shut himself up as he recalled, in painful detail, how he'd put a knife in the Night Watchman's side.

Marian does not flinch at all, she looks at him steadily. "I was," she insists. "I was who they all called the Night Watchman. I need you to know because there cannot be any more secrets and lies between us. Surely you understand that?"

He remembers the time he cut the Night Watchman's arm. The next day, Marian had also been injured. Then there was the stabbing, before their first 'wedding', and Marian had been mysteriously stricken with an ailment soon after. Sir Edward had tried to stop him seeing her, and told him she was simply over-excited about the wedding. He believed that because he wanted to believe it. He didn't see the clues because he didn't want to, he blinded himself to them.

He swallows hard, finding his throat dry. "It doesn't matter, though," he says, finally. "We're on the same side now, anyway."

Marian gives an enthusiastic nod. "Exactly," she says, encouraging the positive side of his nature. "But I needed to be honest with you, so you know. So there's no more sneaking around. You understand, don't you?"

With pieces falling into place, he realises the full horror of what he did to her. He could have killed her and it makes him sick to the stomach. He feels himself recoiling from himself, from his own actions. He gets to his feet, still trembling and Marian reaches out to him,

"I never meant to hurt you, Guy," she says, misunderstanding the reason for his revulsion. "Stay."

He stops, half way between walking away. "I could have killed you," he quietly states.

"But you didn't," she replies. "But if you had known it was me-"

"I would have protected you," he protests. "I would do anything to keep you safe, you know that."

She raises a wan smile. "I do now," she corrects him.

She gets to her feet and closes the gap between them. "Guy, please understand; I did what I thought I had to do," she explains. "I wasn't doing anything to spite you or harm you. I just wanted to help people who were worse off than us."

He can guess that Robin Hood knows, and has done for some time. But what does it matter now? Marian defied Vaisey; these days, he wanted to kill the man and to the devil with sneaking around behind his back, scoring insignificant victories. He folds his arms around her – his future wife – and brought her in close.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" he asks.

"Nothing," she replies without hesitation, stretching to her full height to kiss him.

He returns her kiss with aplomb, making the most of these stolen moments between them. Before long, it will be time to leave this place for good. But, even if he does die in the attempt to over-throw Vaisey, he knows he will die happy, with a sure place in her heart and her in his. She can feel her hands moving slowly down his back, probing along his spine. He responds by cupping her face, feeling the soft contours of her jaw and cheeks. Just as they border on the indecent, the sound of approaching footsteps intrudes on their privacy, snatching the moment out from under their noses.

They pull apart, and Robin stands leaning against the tree trunk Marian had just vacated. He's clearly seen them, he stands there looking at them both through narrowed eyes. Marian, realising she still has one hand resting on Guy's hip and another somewhere altogether much more compromising, suddenly pulls away and makes an exaggerated attempt to look as though nothing had been going on. For a moment, Guy simply feels sorry for him.

"I won't intrude for long," says Robin, averting his gaze to his feet. "But it's time to go. George has already ridden ahead."

"You're not intruding," Guy hastily assures him.

Marian nods. "Nothing going on here."

"So I see," Robin says, not meeting their gaze.

Without further ado, he turns around and stalks back the way he must have come. Guy clears his throat to cover their awkward silence. Marian, meanwhile, flushes with shame.

"I need to tell him," she mutters.

"I think he already knows," Guy points out.

"I was going to wait until after all this," she explains. "Once the Sheriff was gone and we actually have a future."

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Still, there is no time to dwell on all that. They walk together, arms around each other until they reach the outskirts of the camp, when they then put a discreet distance between each other. It was bad enough Robin walking in on them like that, but there is no need to rub his nose in it by openly gushing over each other in public sight. Both of them, however, slink guiltily to their horses and get themselves mounted and ready to go.

* * *

Sir Edward, Malcolm and Matilda are all staying behind; too old and impaired to fight. They will ride out later, when they know their services will be required to tend to the injured. After Marian's tearful farewell to her father, they all join the Outlaws in a large group by the Monastery gates near the camp. Guy is relieved to see Allan A Dale riding alongside Will Scarlett and Djaq. Perhaps the laughing boy has his merits, after all, if he's the one to forgive first. Besides, he knew A Dale could charm his way back in. That man could charm the knickers off Saint Agnes, if he so desired.

As soon as they reach open countryside, they spur their horses into a gallop that makes conversation impossible. The ride, dull and uneventful, gives them all time to think. Including Guy, whose mind will not stop racing ahead, coming up with ways to trick the Sheriff or catch him off guard. They're ten miles from Nottingham when the brainwave hits him. He spurs his horse on, faster to catch up with Robin, who's already powering ahead of the others. As he catches up and passes, Guy signals for him to slow down so they can talk.

"We'll reach Nottingham by sundown," he says, once the Outlaw and he are at a level canter. "I say we go in at midnight and catch the Sheriff off guard."

Robin frowns. "What about George? He thinks he's going in tomorrow morning," he says. But he can also see the appeal of a surprise attack.

"Yes, but he's waiting for us at the Abbey of Kirklees," Guy explains. "If we send him in at midnight, he'll gladly do it."

Robin smiles, picking up speed again as the others start to catch them up. It's almost like a race, when they all need to arrive as one moving train.

"It'll get this over and done with sooner," he agrees.

Guy falls back again, falling into line with Marian had her gentler palfrey horse and relays the change in plan to her. By the time news reaches the whole party, they're already within the boundaries of Nottingham County. To stay off the main roads, where the Sheriff's men will be keeping a constant look out for them, they divert their course into Sherwood Forest. The sun is already setting, but inside the forest itself, the canopy of trees blots out what little daylight there is left, plunging them all into a shadow world until they reach the abbey of Kirklees on the outskirts of the city itself.

George and his men are already there, waiting for them.

"You took your time," he greeted them, grinning. "Ready for this?" he asks, glancing around at them as they painfully dismount.

Robin runs a head count as they all gather and regroup. Satisfied that everyone is present, he turns to George and Guy.

"I'm heading out to Locksley to raise as many men as I can," he said. "Gisbourne, no offence, but they don't know about you, yet. They won't follow you down the road. So I'm sending Will out to Nettlestone. John will go around here and rally as many men as possible."

All these small reminders of just how hated Guy still is wash off him like water off a duck's back. It's Marian who flinches now. "I don't suppose we can go to Nottingham," she says.

Robin laughs. "No way," he cuts her off.

Guy leans down and whispers in her ear. "Did you bring your Night Watchman get up?" he asks, keeping his voice low.

She turns to face him with a frown marring her features. "Of course I did," she replies, proudly.

Guy grins. "Actually," he says, out loud so everyone can hear. "The Night Watchman might be up for a trip to Nottingham."

Marian suppresses a squeal of excitement, clapping her hands over her mouth as she turns to Guy, glowing with pride. A pang of regret grips him, as soon as he sees her reckless excitement. "As long as he's bloody careful," he whispers low, so only she can hear.

Quickly, she gets a grip on herself. "I will, I promise," she assures him, already reaching for one of her saddlebags, the one with her uniform in. "Thank you so much for letting me do this," she gushes, still flushed with happiness.

He manages to smile. Most of the others have already left to rally the troops from the outlaying villages.

"Tell the others we'll be waiting inside the Abbey," he tells her, leaning to kiss her before she goes to get changed. "Stay safe, and do what you can."

He's seen her fight; he's been beaten up by her himself. But still he worries as she slips into the night, and out of his sight. He and George take the horses into an enclosure around the back of the Abbey, where they can rest and drink fresh water. They will be needing them again, if they need to make a hasty retreat. Inside, they have just a few hours to go until midnight comes around. A few hours spent twiddling their thumbs until the sound of footsteps finally approach the door of the Abbey.


	14. Endgame

**Author's Note:** thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and reviews would be very welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Endgame**

They do the best they can, under the circumstances. A rag tag band of able bodied men assembled at the eleventh hour, gather round the outskirts of the castle, waiting for the drawbridge to fall and the portcullis to be raised – their signal to storm the fortress and wrest it from the Sheriff. Meanwhile Robin, Guy, Marian and the rest of the Outlaws prepare to take the Castle from within. First, Guy got the wrong crypt, opening it up to find regular, lead coffins inside with lifeless wax effigies of the occupants on top. They all crossed themselves hurriedly and backed out, refusing to breathe the air inside the disturbed grave. But, the next one he tried opened onto a partially concealed doorway and Guy still had the key hanging from his belt.

It's dark inside. They dowse their torches outside, not wanting to bring them into the castle and find them a hindrance when it came to drawing their weapons once they got inside. But, it's as black as night in there. Guy leads the way, stooped to avoid hitting the low ceiling and hugging the rough stone walls to feel his way along, rather than relying exclusively on memory alone. Each footfall is slow, painfully slow, placed with caution lest he should stumble on loose stones on the floor. Behind him, a small hand reaches out and grabs his wrist. The width of the passageway dictates that they go in single file, but he reaches behind him and grips Marian's hand to compensate.

"Form a chain," he whispers back at her, "so we don't lost each other."

He cannot see reaction, but assumes that she's reached out to the person behind her and relays the message. They round a corner that Guy only found after walking into the wall, but once around there and a few meters along, the darkness lessens and the tunnel starts to slope upwards. Even the passage widens, meaning Marian can move to his side. Then, they reach a door with a thin shaft of light emanating from underneath. He breathes a sigh of relief, but it is relief that's short lived as he reaches the door and hears voices from inside.

"George is already in there," he says to Marian.

"He can't be!" she whispers back.

Guy opens the door as quietly as he can, wishing he hadn't let the hinges grow so rusty. It opens onto a small, stone ante-chamber. The only light inside comes from the full moon outside, slanting through the single, lead paned window above the secret door. It's a squeeze to get them all out of the tunnel and into the ante-chamber, but more space clears as they all line up along the wall. Now, Robin moves to the door to stand with Guy and Marian. All three stand, leaning towards the door to listen to what's happening in the Great Hall on the other side.

"You mean to tell me that you've seen Guy of Gisbourne dead?" the Sheriff's voice croons from nearby.

That's not quite the script, but Guy also realises it is so much better. The attack will come as even more of a surprise.

"Looked to me like he was attacked by Brigands, my lord," replies George, sounding supremely confident. "That's the problem. Gisbourne was used to living in a castle. He was never going to last long."

A silence follows, punctuated only by the sound of measured footsteps that stop directly outside the door to their ante-chamber.

Guy looks over at Robin and jerks his head toward the door. Understanding the silent request, Robin nods his approval.

"That's the problem with Brigands attacks," says George, just as Guy grips the door handle and kicks it open with as much force as he can muster. "You never know when they might strike."

The door jolts violently as it slams against the bulk of the Sheriff's body, but it's still enough to throw him to the floor. Before Vaisey can so much as get his bearings, Robin, Guy and Marian are standing over him, bow, sword and dagger drawn, ready for attack. The rest of the Outlaws all burst out into the Great Hall behind them, fanning out and ready to strike against any guards who think of intervening.

A lopsided grin turns the corner of Guy's lip as he looks down at the Sheriff, prostrate at his feet and digs the tip of his sword into his throat. It was so easy, he's almost laughing.

"Got you at last, Vaisey," Guy pants between breaths.

The Sheriff goes to move, dark eyes glittering as they flicker between all the faces of his assailants. His chest heaves, a volcanic eruption of fury simmering ever closer to the edge as he realises the trap he's been led directly into.

"You!" he snaps, pointed at Guy, then swerving his arm over to point at George. "You lied, you-"

"Shut it, Vaisey!" Robin interjects, leaning closer to the Sheriff, with the point of the arrow almost pressing into the fallen Sheriff's eye. "Come with us, now, and capitulate publicly, or you die."

Still flat on his back, Vaisey tries to shuffle like a spider across the flagstones. But, Marian brings one delicate foot down over his crotch, threatening, but stopping just short of serious injury.

"Move another inch and I'll castrate you with the heel of my boot!" she warns, still holding her jewelled dagger out in front of her.

"Do as Robin says, and no one else need get hurt," says Guy, working the point of his sword into the Sheriff's throat, making him reel back into the floor.

Rage seethes in Vaisey's eyes as they lock into Guy's. "I made you," he hisses up at him. "You would be nothing without me."

It's too late; Guy knows the truth and there's no time to fill the Sheriff in on all that he's heard. Guy's not giving in. "Stand your guards down, Vaisey," he advises. "Surrender the Castle and you might just live."

"Capitulate, Vaisey, there's nowhere left to run," Robin points out.

The Sheriff, however, laughs. "You can't kill me, Hood," he says, suddenly pretending that Guy isn't even there. "The Pact. You'll never find the Pact and Prince John will raze Nottingham to the ground."

There is an element of truth to that that none of them can deny. Robin, however, is not duly concerned. "My Gang!" he calls out, not taking his eye off Vaisey at all. "Restrain the former Sheriff!"

His command is met with a flurry of activity and minutes later, Djaq appears with a length of twine. Vaisey vanishes under a pile of people as he's bound fast and completely immobilised. The air is suddenly thick with his curses and ranting, Vaisey doing his worst to get the final say. But, it all rings so hollow when coming from a man bound and trussed up like a chicken. Guy throws a key to Allan A Dale, who casually reaches out one hand and catches it.

"Take him down to the cells, Allan," Guy instructs.

"Little John, go with him in case it gets rough," Robin instructs.

Little John says nothing, but grips his staff as he moves to stand protectively over Allan, who hauls Vaisey to his feet. They go via a back corridor, down the servants entrances to avoid the guards. But, in their wake, the others are left in an empty hall. They look at each other in the silence, each wondering what to do next.

Djaq shrugs. "Is that it?" she asks, almost laughing.

Will, however, is more cautious. "Nothing is ever that easy."

Guy moves to the door, with Marian following him. "We take the rest of the Castle," he says. "This hasn't even begun."

As one, they draw their weapons again and burst out through the door and into the main thoroughfare of the Castle itself. A guard whirls around to face them, looking at them askance.

"What's going on?" he demands to know, signalling to his surrounding subordinates to be on guard.

George steps forward. "The Sheriff is overthrown," he states, quite casually. "Stand your men down and let us pass."

The man raises a brow. "Not bloody likely!" he snorts.

Before they know it, the fight begins proper. Guy blocks the guards easily, while Marian elbows another in the face, so hard he's sent reeling backwards down a flight of stone steps. The last two men standing see sense, and cross over to their side, joining in the storming of Nottingham Castle. From the Great Hall, they fan out in pairs to begin sweeping the whole fortress clean of Vaisey's supporters.

Guy and Marian take the presence chambers and entrance, she using her dagger to cut the ropes that secure the drawbridge while Guy orders the portcullis to be raised. Resistance is feeble, and when the townspeople flood inside flood inside as soon as the entrances are passable, the opposition throw down their weapons at their advance. Some are seen escaping against the influx of people swarming into the Castle, and very few remain to fight for Vaisey.

On their way to the dungeons, Guy fights against the gaoler, there. But the gaoler is no match for Guy, and is soon left for dead at the hands of his own prisoners as Allan A Dale starts freeing them, to join in the fight. The fighting, however, is intermittent. Clashes flare up, only to die away within minutes when the Outlaws and Guy, with Marian at his side, move together and separate again seamlessly. Even some of the peasants are not troubled, as they help themselves to the Sheriff's wine. Someone has even set his birds free, and they flutter about the corridors at liberty.

They sweep the Castle once, with Marian and Guy separating to make the job faster. However, by the time they make it back to the Hall, the Sheriff's guards are waiting, regrouped and stronger than before. Now, Guy knows, the battle will really begin. The Outlaws stop, lined up behind Guy and Robin.

"Where's Marian?" asks Guy. "She needs to get out of the way."

"I thought she was with you," comes the reply. "Some might say you shouldn't have brought her here in the first place."

Guy snorts derisively. "Were you going to be the one to stop her?"

Robin sighs impatiently. "Everyone, on the count of three!"

They don't even wait that long before they storm back into the Hall. The next few minutes become a blur of activity with arrows sailing through the air from Robin's bow, while Guy lunges almost blindly with his sword at anyone who dares advance on them. He almost slips in a puddle of blood as he attacks a guard who's advancing on Allan A Dale with his halberd, but the strong arms of Little John stop his fall and push him back onto his feet.

"Thanks, John," he gasps, shocked at the identity of his rescuer.

But John is already back in the melee, lost in the press of bodies as the battle rages on. The metallic tang of blood now hangs in the air, the sounds of steel blade on blade clashes all around, sparks sent up from blades in conflict. Guy fights on, while keeping one eye open for Marian, somewhere in the press. They gain ground again, but it takes a full half hour before they win back the hall and fighting moves out in to the Courtyard.

To Guy's surprise, Much is leading the men outside, already gaining ground. The archers, more than just Robin on his own, are shooting volley after volley of arrows, raining them down on Vaisey's rapidly retreating supporters. Within another hour, they know they have won. An unsettling silence descends and the last of the battles is fought and won and survivors who can, flee.

"Robin!" Guy calls over to him from across the Hall. "I need to ride out to villages. The Sheriff's men will sack the towns as they go."

Robin curses heavily. "Good thinking, Gisbourne, I'll come with you."

* * *

They ride out together, a trail of villagers running behind them through the night. Together, they give chase to the Sheriff's fleeing men, making sure the women and children of the villages went unmolested in the trail of violence. Guy's heart sinks as he sees that some thatched huts are already ablaze, with precious livestock lying dead with their throats cut deliberately.

However, the women are already out, storming the dirt tracks and lashing out at defeated soldiers with pitchforks. From the top of the horse he purloined, Guy can see a young maiden fleeing from two soldiers, screaming in terror as she goes. He cannot give chase; he'll never make it in time, even with his horse.

"ROBIN!" he yells as loud as he can. "Over there!"

He points the way, Robin sees immediately what is about to happen as the soldiers grab the girl's gown as it billows out behind her. He gets two arrows, and draws them both simultaneously. Guy holds his breath as the shots are lined up, and the arrows loosed at the same time. The arrows hit home with deadly precision, felling the two soldiers at once. The girl stops, looking around to see what happened to her assailants. Then, her gaze locks in on Robin's and she faints with relief.

For a second, the two old enemies look at each other and exchange a grin. However, Guy remembers Marian, who he has not seen since before the second battle in the Great Hall. He digs his spurs deep into his horses hind legs, taking off at a gallop.

Marian looks about the Great Hall in wonder. They've done it; they've won and she knows that. But she cannot find Guy. She lost him before the second battle in the Hall and now she's turning over corpses, searching every corner for him.

"Have you seen Guy?" she asks, stopping people at random. "Have you seen him? I must find him!"

She wants to share this moment with him, but he's nowhere to be found. He could be among the dead, and as she searches, she realises just how many people that is. Tears start to leak down her face, fear building in her stomach as time goes on and there's still no sign of him.

"Has anyone seen Guy of Gisbourne?" she demands, calling from steps so everyone can hear her.

He's dead. She starts to reconcile herself to that fact. God's punishment for denying him for so long? Possibly. She walks forwards in a haze, looking all about her. "Guy!" she calls out again, hoping beyond hope that he will answer. A young woman tending to the injured passes by and Marian reaches out to stop her. "Where's Guy?" she demands without preamble. "Have you seen him? Where is he?"

"He's here," a man's voice says, from directly behind her.

"Where?" she demands whirling around. It's him. Grinning like a schoolboy, bloodied sword at his side and blood leaking from a cut above his eye. She melts, feels her knees grow weak. "Guy!" she shrieks loudly, throwing herself into his arms and hugging him tight. He returns, kissing her deeply, so much that he thinks they can never kiss each other enough.

* * *

**Thanks for reading; just one more chapter to go!**


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